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Edited  by  NICHOLAS  MURRAY  BUTLER 


Outlines    of  Psychology 


♦The^)<^o 


Outlines  of  Psychology 


AN   ELEMENTARY   TREATISE 
WITH    SOME    PRACTICAL    APPLICATIONS 


BY 


JOSIAH    ROYCE,  Ph.D.,  LL.D. 

PROFESSOR   OF   THE    HISTORY   OF   PHILOSOPHY 
IN    HARVARD    UNIVERSITY 


THE    MACMILLAN    COMPANY 

LONDON:  MACMILLAN  Sc  CO.,  Ltd. 
1903 

u4//  rights  reserved 


To  ycLc-acA. 


Copyright,   1903, 
By   the    MACMILLAN    COMPANY. 


Set  up,  electrotyped,  and  published  May,  1903.      Reprinted 
October,  1903. 


Norivood  Press 

J.  S.  Gushing  &  Co.  —  Berivkk  &  Smith  Co. 

Norivoody  Mass.,   U.S.A. 


PREFACE 

A  NUMBER  of  years  since  I  was  a  contributor  to  a 
large  volume  entitled,  /;/  Sickness  and  in  Health  —  the 
joint  work  of  a  number  of  authors.  The  volume  was 
intended  as  a  popular  guide  regarding  various  aspects 
of  public  and  private  hygiene,  of  nursing,  and  of  related 
topics.  The  treatise,  however,  contained  introductory 
statements,  composed  by  different  writers,  and  setting 
forth  the  most  general  outlines  of  Anatomy,  of  Physi- 
ology and  of  Psychology.  It  was  my  own  task  merely 
to  contribute  to  this  volume  the  sketch  of  some  of  the 
elementary  principles  and  practical  apphcations  of  Psy- 
chology. The  later  essays  of  the  volume  were  the  work 
of  physicians.  The  introductory  statements  were  ac- 
cordingly very  strictly  Hmited,  as  to  their  plan  and  as 
to  their  contents,  by  their  relation  to  the  highly  practical 
treatise  in  which  they  formed  so  subordinate  a  part. 

By  the  consent  of  the  publishers  of  the  work  thus 
prepared,  I  have  been  able  to  use  the  material  of  this, 
my  former  very  summary  sketch  of  Psychology,  as  the 
core  of  the  present  elementary  book.  I  have  indeed 
revised  such  of  the  former  discussion  as  I  here  use ;  and 
I  have  added  a  proportionately  large  amount  of  new 
text,  and  have  endeavoured  to  give  the  present  volume  its 
own  unity.  What  remains  from  the  original  sketch  is, 
however,  especially  the  tendency  to  make  a  number  of 
practical  apphcations  of  psychological  theory  at  various 

V 


Vi  PREFACE 

places  in  my  discussion  —  a  tendency  which  may  be  of 
service  to  some  readers  who,  like  myself,  are  fond  of 
defining  a  good  many  of  the  problems  of  teaching,  and 
of  practical  life,  more  or  less  in  psychological  terms,  so 
far  as  they  are  able  to  do  so.  Otherwise,  as  I  hope,  the 
present  work  speaks  for  itself. 

This  is  not  a  book  upon  the  Philosophy  of  Mind,  nor 
does  it  deal  with  any  philosophical  problems.  Such( 
problems  I  have  indeed  discussed  at  length  in  other  pub- 
lications of  my  own.  But  the  reader  of  my  various 
philosophical  inquiries  will  already  know  that  I  make  a 
sharp  difference  between  the  business  of  the  student  of 
philosophy  and  that  of  the  psychologist.  In  the  present 
volume,  I  am  concerned  solely  with  certain  problems  of 
the  natural  history  of  mind ;  metaphysical  issues  are  here 
not  at  all  in  question.  On  the  other  hand,  this  volume 
is  indeed  no  effort  to  summarise  the  more  technical 
results  of  modern  Experimental  Psychology,  although  I 
believe  thoroughly  in  the  importance  of  Experimental 
Psychology,  and  personally  take  no  small  interest  in  fol- 
lowing, so  far  as  I  can,  the  labours  of  my  colleagues  of 
the  laboratories ;  and  although  I  hope  that  this  book 
shows  a  good  many  signs  of  my  having  profited  by  such 
an  interest.  My  plan  has  led  me,  however,  to  concern  ! 
myself  here  with  elementary  principles  rather  than  with 
technical  details,  and  to  attempt,  to  some  extent,  practi- 
cal applications  of  these  principles,  rather  than  state- 
ments of  the  fascinating,  but  complex  special  researches 
of  recent  laboratory  Psychology. 


PREFACE  Vll 


For  the  same  reason,  this  volume  makes  no  attempt 
to  deal  with  the  special  Psychology  of  the  senses,  with 
the  details  of  the  theory  of  space-perception,  or  with 
any  of  the  other  special  regions  where  modern  Experi- 
mental Psychology  has  already  won  its  greatest  triumphs. 
I  do  not,  indeed,  undervalue  what  has  been  accomplished 
in  those  fields.     But  I  have  no  desire  to  try  to  compete 
with  the  numerous  recent  expositions  in  which  the  later 
conquests  of  Experimental  Psychology  have  been  sum- 
marised.     On   the  contrary,  I  hope  that   my   reader's 
curiosity  may  be  aroused  in  such  wise  that  he  may  be 
led  to  look  elsewhere  for  what  I  do  not  pretend  to  give  \^ 
him.      My  own   purpose,   and   my   chosen    limitations,  < 
assign  to  me  another  task. 

I  presuppose,  then,  a  serious  reader,  but  not  one 
trained  either  in  experimental  methods,  or  in  philo- 
sophical inquiries.  I  try  to  tell  him  a  few  things  that 
seem  to  me  important,  regarding  the  most  fundamental 
and  general  processes,  laws,  and  conditions  of  mental 
life.  I  say  nothing  whatever  about  the  philosophical 
problem  of  the  relations  of  mind  and  body,  and  nothing 
about  the  true  place  of  mind  in  the  universe.  Mean- 
while, I  try  to  view  the  matters  here  in  question  in  a 
perspective  which  is  of  my  own  choosing.  The  treat- 
ment of  mental  phenomena,  under  the  three  heads  of 
Sensitiveness,  Docility,  and  Initiative,  is  especially  char- 
acteristic of  the  plan  of  my  book.  This  arrangement 
and  classification  of  well-known  facts  involves  a  point 


viii  PREFACE 

of  view  which  seems  to  me  to  possess  a  certain  relative 
novelty.  The  entire  subordination  of  the  usual  dis- 
tinctions of  FeeHng,  Intellect,  and  Will,  to  these  deeper 
distinctions,  which  my  own  division  of  the  phenomena 
of  mind  is  intended  to  emphasise,  —  the  persistent 
stress  that  I  lay  upon  the  upity  of  the  intellectual  and 
the  voluntary  processes,  which,  in  popular  treatises,  are 
too  often  sundered,  and  treated  as  if  one  of  them  could 
go  on  without  the  other,  —  these  are  also  characteristic 
of  the  present  discussion.  Furthermore,  in  the  chapter 
on  the  Feelings,  I  have  presented  views  which  are  in 
some  respects  of  my  own  devising.  The  traditional 
view  makes  Pleasure  and  Displeasure  the  sole  elementary 
qualities  of  Feeling.  Wundt  has  recently  insisted  upon 
the  existence  of  three  different  "  dimensions  "  of  feel- 
ing ;  i.e.  he  has  maintained  that  there  are  three  "  pairs 
of  opposing  qualities,"  to  be  found  amongst  the 
elementary  feeUngs,  —  pleasure  and  its  opposite  together 
constituting  one  only  of  these  pairs.  I  have  here  at- 
tempted, provisionally,  a  /z£^<9-dimensional  scheme  of 
the  elementary  feeUngs.  The  interest  of  my  hypothesis, 
if  it  has  any  value,  lies  in  the  statement  which  it  makes 
possible  concerning  the  relation  of  Feeling  and  Conduct. 
I  am  able  to  define,  in  terms  of  my  view,  the  possibiHty 
of  certain  forms  of  conduct,  and  of  certain  tendencies 
of  the  attention,  which  the  customary  pleasure-dis- 
pleasure theory,  as  I  think,  is  unable  to  describe. 

In  addition  to  these  matters,  relating  to  the  theoretical 


PREFACE  ix 

aspects  of  my  book,  there  is  one  further  topic  which 
may  interest  some  more  technical  readers.  In  the 
chapter  on  Mental  Initiative,  I  have,  namely,  stated 
certain  views  regarding  the  origin  of  novel  modes  of 
conduct,  and  novel  forms  of  consciousness,  —  views 
which,  as  I  hope,  are  worthy  of  some  consideration,  and 
which  are,  in  some  respects,  relatively  independent. 
They  are  introduced  into  this  book  especially  for  the 
sake  of  their  practical  bearings.  But  they  also  have  a 
theoretical  aspect  which  may  interest  the  more  profes- 
sional reader  of  this  volume. 

To  my  mind,  namely,  an  interesting  side-light  has 
been  shed  upon  the  well-known  controversies  between 
the  associationists  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  school  of 
Wundt,  and  the  partisans  of  "  mental  activity  "  gener- 
ally, on  the  other,  by  the  stress  that  Professor  Loeb  has 
recently  laid  upon  the  part  that  what  he  calls  **  tropisms  " 
play  in  the  life  of  animals  of  all  grades.  By  a 
"  tropism,"  Loeb  means  a  response,  on  the  part  of  an 
organism,  to  some  type  of  physical  or  chemical  stimulus, 
—  a  response  taking  the  form  of  some  characteristic 
movement,  which  may  or  may  not  be  adaptive  in  any 
particular  case,  but  which  is  determined  by  the  nature 
of  the  stimulus  and  of  the  organism.  Loeb's  "  trop- 
isms "  are  exemplified  by  the  actions  of  such  organisms 
as  turn  toward  the  light,  or  as  flee  the  light,  or  as  find 
their  way  into  crevices,  or  as  do  any  other  characteristic 
thing,  with  a  mechanical  certainty,  whenever  they  are 


X  PREFACE 

stimulated  in  special  fashions  by  light,  by  the  touch  of 
solid  objects,  or  by  other  stimuli,  e.g.  by  chemical 
stimuli.  The  moth's  flight  into  the  candle-flame  is  an 
instance  of  such  a  "tropism."  As  thus  appears,  the 
"tropism"  need  not,  in  any  one  case,  prove  to  be  an 
adaptive  response  to  the  environment,  although  the 
resultant  of  all  of  the  "  tropisms "  together  must  in 
general,  in  any  organism,  tend  to  the  survival  of  the 
type  of  organism  in  question. 

Now  it  is  especially  notable  that  the  "tropisms"  of 
Loeb  are  not,  like  the  "  reflex  actions  "  of  the  usual  theo-j 
ries,  modes  of  activity  primarily  determined  by  the 
functions  of  specific  nerve-centres.  Furthermore,  they 
are  more  general  and  elemental  in  their  character  than 
are  any  of  the  acquired  habits  of  an  organism.  At  any 
one  moment  when  they  are  called  into  activity,  they  may 
run  counter  to  the  acquired  habits.  In  brief,  Loeb's 
concept  of  a  *'  tropism "  is  different  from  the  ordi- 
nary concept  of  a  reflex  action,  and  is  different,  too, 
from  the  concept  of  an  acquired  adaptive  habit  of  action. 
Loeb  has  insisted  that  the  new  concept  is  more  funda- 
mental than  the  old  ones,  and  that  both  habits  and  reflex 
actions  must  ultimately  be  explained  as  results  of  "  trop- 
isms." Now  it  has  occurred  to  me  to  maintain,  in  sub- 
stance, that  the  factor  in  mental  life  which  Wundt's 
school  define  as  "  Apperception,"  and  which  others  so 
often  call  "spontaneity,"  "active  attention,"  "conscious 
activity,"  or,   sometimes,    "  self -activity,"    may  well  be 


PREFACE  xi 

treated,  from  the  purely  psychological  point  of  view,  as 
the  conscious  aspect  or  accompaniment  of  a  collection  of 
tendencies  of  the  type  which  Loeb  has  called  "  tropisms." 
These  tendencies  appear  at  once  as  elemental,  and  at 
the  moment  at  which  they  are  aroused,  as  sovereign 
over  acquired  habits  and  associations  of  ideas ;  in  other 
words,  as  directive  of  the  course  of  our  conscious  life. 

In  thus  reducing  the  physical  accompaniment  of  the 
process  which  Wundt  calls  "Apperception,"  and  which 
others  call  "  self-activity "  to  the  type  of  what  Loeb 
calls  "tropisms,"  I  am  able  to  explain,  in  so  far  as  the 
point  of  view  of  the  psychologist  requires  such  explana- 
tion, the  frequent  appearance  in  our  mental  Hfe  of  a 
factor  which  (i)  is  more  general  than  is  any  specific, 
mental  function  due  to  our  acquired  habits,  and  which  i 
(2)  seems  at  any  moment  to  be  capable  of  directing  the 
course  of  our  associations,  rather  than  to  be  merely  the 
result  of  experience  and  association.  Yet  in  order  to 
explain  the  presence  of  such  a  factor,  I  am  not  obliged 
to  go  beyond  the  presuppositions  which  determine  the 
point  of  view  of  the  psychologist.  Wundt  has  insisted 
that  his  "Apperception  "  is  no  disembodied  spiritual  en- 
tity. I  conceive  that  Loeb  has  indicated  to  us,  in  the 
concept  of  the  "tropism,"  how  a  j^ower  more  or  less 
directive  of  the  course  of  our  associations,  and  more 
general  than  is  any  one  of  the  tendencies  that  are  due, 
in  us,  to  habit,  or  to  specific  experience,  can  find  its  em- 
bodiment in  the  most  elemental  activities  of  our  organ- 


xii  PREFACE 

ism.  Wundt's  opponents,  on  the  contrary,  insist  that  all^ 
our  activities  must  be  due  to  inherited  reflexes,  modified] 
by  experience,  and  organised  by  the  law  of  habit ;  and 
that  consequently  the  law  of  association  must  determine 
the  sequence  of  all  our  mental  states.  Loeb  shows  how 
the  "  tropisms  "  are  more  elemental  than  the  reflexes,  and 
how  they  are  capable  of  suddenly  modifying  our  habits. 
The  result  must  be,  as  I  maintain,  that  the  associa- 
tionist  view  of  mental  life  must  have  its  limitations. 

Upon  the  basis  of  the  ideas  thus  indicated,  I  have 
sketched,  in  Chapter  XVIII  of  my  text,  a  theory  of  how 
the  apparent  "  originality,"  or  "  spontaneity,"  or  in 
another  phraseology,  the  Initiative,  of  the  organism,  and 
of  the  individual  mind,  are  to  be  treated  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  psychologist.  Meanwhile  this  theory 
has  indeed  deeper  relations,  in  my  own  mind,  to  certain 
philosophical  views  of  mine  as  to  the  real  nature  of 
individual  choice  and  originality.  These  views  I  have 
elsewhere  in  part  already  set  forth ;  but  they  are  not  in 
place  in  a  book  dealing  with  Psychology.  And  they  are 
indeed  far  enough  from  the  views  which  Professor  Loeb 
has  in  mind  in  his  researches. 

I  have  thus  indicated,  not  only  to  those  readers  to 
whom  I  especially  appeal,  but  also  to  the  more  technical 
student,  wherein  lie  some  of  the  more  characteristic  of 
the  features  which  this  little  book  possesses.  The  less 
technical  reader,  however,  for  whom  my  text,  especially 
in  its    more  practical  discussions,  is    chiefly  intended, 


PREFACE  Xiii 

need  not  trouble  himself  as  to  what  is  mine  or  is  not 
mine,  nor  as  to  the  deeper  problems  of  theory  which  I 
touch  upon,  nor  as  to  how  my  views  are  related  to  those 
of  other  students.  I  have  tried  to  help  such  a  reader, 
who  may  often  be,  as  I  hope,  like  myself,  a  teacher,  to 
understand  some  of  the  best  known  of  the  results  of 
psychological  study,  and  at  the  same  time  to  view  those 
results  in  a  light  that  may  sometimes  justly  appear  to 
him  to  be  novel.  I  have  also  tried  to  help  him  a  little 
to  apply  his  knowledge  in  practice. 

I  have  still  to  acknowledge  my  constant  indebtedness 
in  this  book,  first,  to  the  one  who  was  amongst  my 
earliest  guides  in  the  study  of  Psychology,  namely,  to 
my  honoured  friend  and  colleague.  Professor  William 
James,  and  secondly  to  Professor  Baldwin,  to  whose 
treatment  of  the  problems  of  Mental  Evolution  my 
own  discussion  of  Mental  Initiative  owes  not  a  little, 
and  whose  discussions  of  the  social  factors  in  mental 
development  have  also  much  influenced  my  own. 

The  fact  that  I  have  been  forced  to  correct  the  proof- 
sheets  of  the  present  volume,  during  a  temporary  leave 
of  absence  from  my  usual  place  of  work,  and  while  at 
a  distance  both  from  my  publisher  and  my  library,  may 
help  to  explain  some  of  the  errors  which  may  have 
crept  into  the  printed  text,  and  which  may  have  escaped 

my  notice. 

JOSIAH  ROYCE. 
March  30,  1903. 


CONTENTS 


CHAPTER  I 


V  PAGE 

Intiodductory  Definitions  and  Explanations    .        .        .        .1-19 


§  I.    Definition  of  psychology.     Contrast  between  mental  and 

physical  phenomena     .......         i 

§  2.    In  what  sense  mental  phenomena  are  internal  .         .         3 

§  3.   A  science  of  mental  phenomena  is  made  possible  by  the 

fact  that  mental  phenomena  have  physical  expressions  5 
§  4.    Such  a  science  is  further  made  possible  by  the  fact  that 

mental  phenomena  occur  under  physical  conditions  .  9 
§  5.  These  physical  conditions  include  certain  nervous  processes  10 
§  6.   Nervous  functions  that  are  attended  with  mental  life  and 

those  that  are  not  so  attended;   their  general  relations       il 
§7.   The  three  essential  undertakings  of  psychological  study    .       12 
§8.  Psychological  methods:    (i)  The  study  of  the  expressive 
signs  of  mental  life;    (2)  The  study  of  the  relations 

between  brain  and  mind 13 

§9.    Psychological  methods:   (3)   Introspection;    (4)   Psycho- 
logical experiment 16 

CHAPTER  II 

The  Physical  Signs  of  the  Presence  of  Mind         .        .         20-57 

§  10.  The  signs  of  mental  life.  The  discriminating  sensitive- 
ness of  beings  that  possess  minds  ....       20 

§  II.   The  forms  of  this  sensitiveness:   (i)  The  signs  of  feeling       22 

§  12.   The    forms   of   discriminating    sensitiveness    continued: 

(2)  The  signs  of  sensory  experience     ....       24 

§  13.   Practical  uses  of  the  foregoing  class  of  signs  of  mental 

life.     Difficulty  of  estimating  these  signs  correctly        .       27 

XV 


A 


xvi  CONTENTS 

PAGB 

§  14.  The  signs  of  sensory  discrimination  may  seem  to  be  present 
where  there  still  may  not  be  the  corresponding  con- 
sciousness. The  heliotropism  of  plants  and  Loeb's 
general  conception  of  a  "  tropism."  Practical  conse- 
quences as  to  these  signs  of  mind  ....       28 

§  15.  The  signs  of  mental  life  continued :  The  signs  of  the  influ- 
ence of  former  experience  upon  present  conduct .         .       32 

§  16.    Inherited  instincts  and  acquired  habits.      The  latter  as 

furnishing  the  signs  of  the  influence  of  experience        .       34 

§  17.    Relation  between  the  signs  of  the  influence  of  experience 

and  the  signs  of  sensitiveness        .....       36 

§  18.   General  definition  of  docility 37 

§  19.   The  signs  of  mental  life  continued:   The  signs  of  what 

seems  to  be  spontaneity        ......       38 

§  20.  Difficulty  of  asserting  the  existence  of  spontaneity  in  the 
actions  of  any  being.  Docility  may  lead  to  what  seems 
spontaneity 39 

§  21.    Examples  of  what  seem  to  be  more  genuine  instances  of 

spontaneity 42 

§  22.    Provisional  definition  of  the  concept  of  mental  initiative  .       46 

§  23.   The  relation  of  the  signs  of  initiative  to  the  signs  of 

docility 5' 

§  24.  Initiative  in  relation  to  what  is  often  called  "  self-activity," 
and  to  the  questions  as  to  the  influence  of  heredity  and 
environment  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         '53 

§  25.  Summary :  The  signs  of  sensitiveness,  of  docility,  and  of 
initiative  as  the  three  classes  of  the  signs  of  mind. 
Division  of  the  later  discussion 55 

CHAPTER  III  ,      '^ 

The  Nervous  Conditions  of  the  Manifestation  of  Mind  '     58-80 

§26.  The  structure  of  the  nervous  system.     The  neurons  .       58 

§  27.   Sensory  and  motor  nerves         ......       61 

§  28.    Characteristics  of  cerebral  processes :  Habit,  localization 
of  function,  generalized  and  specialized  habits.     "  Set " 
of  brain         .........       64 

§  29.  Relation  of  the  cortex  to  lower  nervous  centres.  Guid- 
ance, coordination,  inhibition       .....       7^ 


CONTENTS  xvii 


§  30.  Inhibition  considered  more  in  detail.  Its  importance  .  70 
§  31.    Examples  of  inhibition  in  relation  to  mental  processes. 

The  hierarchy  of  functions   ......       73 

§  32.    Practical  applications  of  the  principle  of  the  inhibitory 

character  of  the  higher  nervous  processes     •         •         •       75 

CHAPTER  IV 
General  Features  of  Conscious  Life         ....       81-118 

§  33-    ^Vhat  cerebral  functions  are  attended  by  conscious  life  ?  .       81 

§34.   The  "  stream  of  consciousness  "  and  its  "  contents  "  .         .       82 

§  35.   The  "  unity  of  consciousness."     What  it  means  and  its 

general  relation  to  the  variety  of  our  conscious  states   .       85 

§  36.  The  variety  of  our  conscious  states  as  an  essential  condi- 
tion of  our  consciousness  and  of  its  unity      ...       89 

§  37.  Difference  and  sameness  as  inseparable  relations  amongst 
the  various  states  present  within  the  unity  of  conscious- 
ness. The  relation  of  sameness  and  difference  to  unity 
and  variety  and  to  one  another     .....       90 

§  38.  Practical  applications  of  the  principles  regarding  the 
relations  of  sameness  and  difference.  How  we  teach 
people  to  note  resemblances  and  differences  .         .       94 

§  39.  The  unity  of  consciousness  as  not  only  simultaneous,  but 
successive.  The  "  present  moment "  as  possessing  a 
finite  length  ........       95 

§  40.  The  question  whether  our  mental  life  is  a  complex  con- 
sisting of  certain  ultimate  elements.  The  concept  of 
elementary  sensations  and  feelings        ....       97 

§  41.  The  concept  of.  mental  elements  more  generally  stated. 
Mental  elements  in  relation  to  cerebral  functions.  The 
"  blending  "  of  mental  elements 100 

§  42.    Psychological    experiment    as  a  means  of  isolating  and 

defining  the  mental  elements        .....     103 

§  43.    Examples  of  the  analysis  of  conscious  states.     The  analysis 

of  musical  sounds  and  of  other  complexes     .         .         .     104 

§  44.  Criticism  of  the  foregoing  theory  of  the  constitution  of 
our  conscious  life.  The  "  mental  elements"  exist  when 
they  are  consciously  observed,  not  otherwise.  Analysis 
alters  the  consciousness  that  is  analysed       .        .        .     107 


xviii  CONTENTS 


§  45.  And  nevertheless  the  theory  of  the  mental  elements  ex- 
presses important  truths.  What  the  experimental 
analyses  do  show  concerning  our  consciousness    .         .     112 

§  46.  The  law  that  for  any  ordinary  state  of  consciousness  an 
analysed  state  or  series  of  states  can  be  substituted. 
Significance  of  this  law  .         .         .         ,         .         .115 

§  47.   Classification  of  the  subsequent  discussion         .         .         •     I17 


CHAPTER  V 

Sensitiveness.    A.  Sensory  Experience      ....     1 19-147 

§48.   The  concept  of  a  sensation        .         .         .         .         .         .119 

§  49.   The  relation  of  consciousness  to  sensations        .         .         .     120 
§  50.    Sensations  as  relatively  simple  mental  states  experimen- 
tally producible    .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .122 

§  51.    Every  grade  and  form  of  normal  consciousness  is  affected 
by  the  accompanying  sensory  experience.      Practical 
consequences  of  this  principle.     Examples  .         .         -123 
§  52.    External  and  internal  sensory  experience  and  their  general 

relationships  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         .     129 

§  53.   Organic  and  dermal  sensory  experience    .         .         .         -131 
§  54.    Sensory  experiences  of  taste,  smell,  sight,  and  hearing      .     134 
§  55.   The  attributes  of  sensation.     Quality  and  intensity    .         .     136 
§  56.   Extensity  as  an  attribute   of  sensory  experience.      The 
bases  of  our  knowledge   of  space.      The  relation  of 
space  to  the  reactions  of  orientation     .         .         .         '139 


-^ 


CHAPTER  VI 

Sensitiveness.    B.   Mental  Imagery 148-162 

§  57.   Definition  and  characteristics  of  mental  images         .         .     148 
§  58.   The  classes  of  mental  images.     Gallon's  inquiries.     The 

types  of  imagery  characteristic  of  different  minds           .     151 
§  59.    Relations  of  mental  images  to  consciousness  in  general, 
to  current  sensory  experience,  and  to  motor  processes 
and  tendencies.     Practical  considerations  concerning 
mental  imagery 157 


CONTENTS  xix 


CHAPTER  VII 

PAGE 

Sensitiveness.     C.  The  Feelings 163-196 


/ 


§  60.   The  feelings  in  general.     Their  traditional  relation  to  the 

intellect  and  the  will.     Their  place  in  the  present  study     163 

§  61.  Elementary  feelings  not  as  extensively  to  be  studied  by 
experiment  as  are  elementary  sensations.  The  "  sub- 
jective "  character  of  feelings        .....     165 

§  62.  The  classification  of  the  feelings  into  those  of  pleasure 
and  those  of  displeasure.  Apparent  difficulty  about 
this  classification.     Usual  answer  to  this  difficulty  .     167 

§  63.  The  antagonism  of  pleasure  and  displeasure.  Their  rela- 
tion to  conduct     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         •     171 

§  64.  Further  difficulties  in  the  way  of  viewing  the  foregoing 
classification  as  exhaustive.  The  "  mixed "  feelings 
and  their  complexity    .         .        .         .         .         .         -173 

§  65.   "Wundt's  "  three-dimensional"  classification  of  the  feelings     176 

§  66.    Hypothesis  of  a  /«;^-dimensional  classification  of  the  feel- 
ings.     Two   pairs  of  opposed  tendencies  in  feeling 
(i)  Pleasure  and  displeasure;    (2)   Restlessness  and 
quiescence    ........ 

§  67.    Characterisation   of  pleasure   and  displeasure.     Charac 
terisation  of  restlessness  and  quiescence 

§  68.   The  quiescent  and  the  restless  states  of  displeasure  ant 

/v  the  restless  and  quiescent  pleasures 

§  69.  Relation  of  the  two  pairs  of  antagonistic  feelings  to  con 
sciousness  in  general     ...... 

§  70.  The  four  tj'pes  of  mixed  feelings  more  exactly  defined 
and  illustrated 

§71.  The  relatively  simple  states  of  feeling.  Relation  of  rest- 
lessness and  quiescence,  and  of  pleasure  and  displeas- 
ure, to  the  attention 189 

§  72.    Review  of  the  whole  survey  of  conscious  processes  up  to 

^  the  present  point.  Question  as  to  the  completeness  of 
the  classification,  thus  far  given,  of  our  present  con- 
scious states.  Is  the  will  such  as  to  include  still  other 
sorts  of  mental  states  ? 192 


177 
179 
182 
184 
185 


XX  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

§  73.  The  place  of  the  will  in  consciousness.  The  relation  of 
will  to  sensory  experience,  to  imagery,  and  to  feeling. 
Result  as  to  the  completeness  of  the  classification  up 
to  the  present  point 193 


CHAPTER  VIII 

The  General  Law  of  Docility 197-217 

§  74.   The  evidences  of  docility  are  furnished  by  facts  that  have 

to  do  both  with  knowledge  and  with  conduct       .         .     197 

§  75.   The  cerebral  law  of  habit  and  its  relation  to  our  conscious 

processes 198 

§  76.  The  process  of  formation  of  a  new  habit;  simplification; 
welding  of  partial  processes  into  unity.  Training  welds 
simultaneous  as  >vell  as  successive  functions  .         .     200 

§  77.   The  law  6i  a^socl^t-i^n  as  the  expression  of  the  law  of  v>\ 
habit  in  mental  t^rms.     Inadequacy  of  this  expression. 
Simultaneous  and  successive  association        .         .         .     203 

§  78.  Consequences  of  the  inadequacy  of  the  mental  process  to 
represent  the  complexity  of  the  cerebral  process.  As- 
sociation by  similarity.  Its  reduction  to  the  law  of 
habit 205 

§  79.  The  theory  that  association  binds  mental  elements  to- 
gether.    Criticism  of  this  theory  .....     208 

§  80.   The  traditional  forms  of  association  .....     209 

§  81.    Inadequacy  of  the  general  law  of  association  to  determine 
what  one  of  various  possible  associations  shall  prove 
fcffective  in  any  one  case       .         .         .         .         .         .210 

ss  and  recency  as   factors  which   determine  the 
course  of  association     .         .         .         .         .         .         .212 

§  83.  Factors  which  determine  the  course  of  association  (con- 
cluded) :  The  present  "set  "  of  the  brain     .         .         .     214 

CHAPTER  IX 

Docility.    A.   Perception  and  Action        ....     218-228 

§  84.    General  plan  of  the  following  discussion  ....     218 
§  85.    General  relation  of  perceptions  to  actions.      Illustration 

from  the  life  of  infancy         .         .         .         .         .         .218 


b     §r82.j?4vids$ 


CONTENTS  xxi 

PACK 

§  86.    Perception  and  action  in  adult  life 221 

§  87.   The  feelings  which  accompany  perception.     The  feeling 

of  familiarity         ........     224 

§  88.  Practical  consequences  of  the  relations  between  percep- 
tion and  action 225 

CHAPTER  X 

Docility.    B.  Assimilation 229-247 

§  89.  Assimilation,  differentiation,  and  the  social  aspect  of 
docility  as  the  remaining  aspects  of  docility  to  be 
treated  in  this  discussion      ......     229 

§  90.  The  assimilation  of  new  habits  to  old  ones  as  a  conse- 
quence of  the  law  of  habit 231 

§91.   The  mental  aspect  of  the  process  of  assimilation        .         .     234 

§  92.    Illustrations   of   mental  -assimilation.       The    Herbartian 

"  Apperccptioft,i{^;.'^      .......     235 

§  93.  Illustrations  of  mental  assimilation  (continued) :  Our 
memory  of  the  past  as  an  assimilative  process.  Errors 
of  memory  which  result 236 

§  94.    Further  illustrations  of  defective  memory  .         .         .     239 

§  95.   The  assimilative  process  is  never  the  only  aspect  of  our 

conscious  relation  to  our  experience      ....     242 

§  96.   Assimilation   in   its   relations   to   the    thinking    process. 

"  Explanation  "  and  reasoning  as  assimilative  processes     245 

CHAPTER  XI 

Docility.     C.  Differentiation 248-273 

§  97.   The  general  nature  of  the  differentiation  which  accom- 
panies the  development  of  the  mind     ....     248 
§  98.   The    derivation    of    our    consciousness   of    simultaneous 

variety  from  our  consciousness  of  successive  variety      .     250 
§  99.    Illustration  from  our  consciousness  of  space      .         .         .     252 
§  100.    Education   as  an  instance  of  differentiation.       Practical 

importance  of  the  dramatic  element  in  instruction         .     254 
§  loi.    Judgment,   and   the   thinking   process   in   general,  as  a 

process  of  differentiation.     Analysis  and  synthesis         .     255 


xxii  CONTENTS 

PAGE 

§  I02.    Practical  consequences 257 

§  103.   The  process  of  attention  as  an  aspect  of  the  process  of 

differentiation 258 

§104.  The  limits  of  differentiation  and  the  "psycho-physic  law"  264 
§  105.    The  psycho-physic  law  as  a  law  not  of  sensation,  but  of 

the  limitations  of  our  docility 268 

CHAPTER  XII 

Docility.     D.  The  Social  Aspect  of  the  Higher  Forms  of 

Docility 274-298 

§  106.    Human  mental  life  as  primarily  social     ....  274 

§  107.   The  bases  of  social  consciousness :  Imitation  .         .         .  275 

§  108,  The  bases  of  social  consciousness :  The  love  of  opposition  277 
§  109.   The  general  relations  of  the  thinking  process  to  social 

stimulations  and  habits.     Why  language  becomes  so 

significant  for  the  development  of  the  thinking  process  280 

§  1 10.   The  formation  of  general  ideas        .....  285 

§111.  General  ideas  as  "  plans  of  action  "  ....  288 
§  112.    Social  activities  as  the  means  of  bringing  these  plans  of 

action  to  clear  consciousness  .....  290 
§  113.    Judgment  as  dependent  for  its  development  upon  social 

conditions  .........  292 

§  114.   The  social  aspect  of  the  development  of  the  reasoning 

process        .........  293 

§  115.  The  social  aspect  of  the  development  of  self-consciousness  296 

CHAPTER  XIII 

The  Conditions  of  Mental  Initiative       ....     299-332 

§  116.  The  problem  as  to  the  possibility  of  mental  initiative 

stated .     299 

§  117.   The  early  imperfection  and  the  slow  development  of  the 

manifestations  of  our  inherited  tendencies  to  action  .  302 
§  118.   Consequences  of  these  facts  for  the  early  training  of  the 

individual  .........     304 

§  119.   The  persistence  of  the  young  organism  in  acts  that  are 

not  yet  adaptive 306 


CONTENTS  xxiii 

PAGE 

§  120.    Illustrations  of  the  restless  persistence  in  acts  that  are  so 

far  not  adaptive  in  the  case  of  adult  animal  organisms     312 
§  121.   Illustrations  of  a  similar   restless   persistence  in  adult 

human  beings     .         .         .         .         .         .         .         '3^5 

§  122.    Such  restless  persistence  in  advance   of  adaptation  as 
the  one  source  of  significant  initiative  in  conduct  and 
in  mind       .........     318 

§123.    Illustrations  from  the  plays  of  children    .         .         .         -319 
§  124.    Illustrations  of  a  similar   initiative  in  the  activities  of 

youth 324 

§  125.   Illustrations  of  restless  persistence  in  case  of  the  social 

tendencies  toward  individualism  ....     326 

§  126.   Ordinary  active  attention  as  a  process  of  restless  per- 
1  sistence  in  advance  of  adaptation.     Attention  and  the 

\  "  tropisms  "  of  Loeb 328 

§^127.  The  bases  of  all  initiative  are  to  be  found  in  "tropisms" 
that  lead  to  a  restless  persistence  in  types  of  action 
which  are  not  yet  adaptive.     Practical  consequences     330 


CHAPTER  XIV 

Certain  Varieties  of  Emotional  and  Intellectual  Life     333-363 

§  128.  Recapitulation  and  survey  of  further  practical  appli- 
cations  ;     333 

§  129.   The  nature  of  the  emotions  --.- —  r     — :         .         .         .     335 

§  130.   The  relation  of  the  emotions  to  their  physical  expression     337 

§  131.  The  practical  aspect  of  the  life  of  the  emotions.  Emo- 
tional variability.     The  emotional  "  undertone "  .     340 

§  132.  Abnormal  emotions.  The  sexual  emotions  and  their 
abnormities.  Practical  considerations  as  to  the  ab- 
normities of  emotional  life  in  general  .         .         .     343 

§  133.   The  intellectual  life  in  general.     Principles  that  preside 

over  its  practical  guidance  ......     349 

§  134.   The   abnormities    of  the    intellectual   life.      Secondary 

impairment  of  the  intellectual  life        ....     352 

§135.    Primary  intellectual  disorders  illustrated.     Hallucinations 

and  delusions      ........     355 

§  136.  Eccentricity  of  intellectual  life.  Practical  rule  for  judg- 
ing "  original  "  characters  and  persons        .         .         .     360 


xxiv  CONTENTS 

CHAPTER   XV 

PAGE 

The  Will  or  the  Direction  of  Conduct  ....     364-379 

§  137.   The  will,  in  the  wider  sense  of  the  term,  as  our  whole 

consciousness  of  our  activity 364 

§  138.   The  relation  of  attention  to  volition.     Choice,  and  the 

will  in  the  narrower  sense 367 

§  139.  Conscious  choice  and  its  unoriginal  character.  The  will 
in  the  narrower  sense  takes  its  rise  in  "  involuntary  " 
action 369 

§  140.    Illustration  of  volition  by  the  case  of  the  growth  of  the 

speech-function  .         .         .         .         .         .         .         '371 

§  141.  The  practical  aspect  of  the  training  of  the  will        .         .     373 

§  142.   Abnormities  of  volition 375 


EDITOR'S     INTRODUCTION 

As  Psychology  has  taken  on  something  of  the  aspect 
of  a  natural  science,  it  has  presented  new  difficulties  to 
the  student.  The  natural  sciences  are  based  on  an 
elaborate  series  of  presuppositions,  none  of  which  are 
tested  or  examined  by  those  sciences.  The  older  form 
of  psychology  began  by  setting  forth  its  presupposi- 
tions, many  of  them  crude  and  untenable,  perhaps,  but 
nevertheless  it  made  the  fact  clear  that  the  superstruc- 
ture had  a  foundation  of  some  sort.  Psychology  as  now 
expounded  is  as  chary  of  stating  its  presuppositions 
as  is  physics,  with  consequent  loss  of  clearness  and 
cogency  to  the  philosophically  minded  student.  As  a 
result,  there  is  constant  need  for  a  summing-up  and 
interpretation  of  the  results  of  special  inquiries  and 
investigations.  Without  this  summing-up  and  inter- 
pretation, the  student  of  psychology  in  its  newer  forms 
is  lost  in  a  maze  of  details,  whose  interrelations  he  com- 
prehends very  imperfectly,  if  at  all. 

It  may  be  assumed,  I  think,  that  the  fundamental 
fact  to  be  grasped  in  psychology  is  what  has  been 
called  the  "isolation  of  the  individual  mind."  Professor 
Royce  refers  to  this  in  his  opening  paragraphs.     When 

XXV 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION 

this  viewpoint  is  clearly  held,  then  the  function  and 
value  of  the  several  methods  used  in  psychology,  as 
well  as  the  significance  of  the  departments  into  which 
its  facts  are  classified,  become  plain.  Genetic,  compara- 
tive, and  social  psychology  are  then  terms  with  a  real 
meaning,  and  such  quahfying  words  as  "rational,"  ** ex- 
perimental," and  ''physiological"  are  seen  to  have  ref- 
erence primarily  to  methods  of  study,  rather  than  to 
varying  data. 

The  student  of  psychology  must  put  to  himself  these 
questions  and  others  like  them,  and  must  search  in  his 
study  for  the  grounds  on  which  correct  answers  to 
them  rest:  — 

How  and  by  what  warrant  do  I  pass  from  a  knowl- 
edge of  my  own  mental  states  to  a  knowledge  and  inter- 
pretation of  the  mental  states  of  others  ?  What  are  the 
primary  evidences  of  mind  ?  Into  what  and  how  few 
simplest  units  can  my  own  complex  mental  states  be 
broken  up  ?  What  are  the  processes  of  mental  growth 
and  development,  and  what  laws  govern  them  ? 

If  he  gains  clear  and  reasonable  convictions  on  such 
points  as  these,  he  has  not  studied  psychology  in  vain. 

There  has  been  much  useless  and  misleading  discus- 
sion as  to  the  special  value  of  psychology  to  the 
teacher.  I  fail  to  see  how  the  proposition  that  a 
knowledge  of  psychology  is  of  use  to  the  teacher  is 
open  to  discussion  at  all,  unless  through  a  juggling  with 
the  plain  meaning  of  words.     That  the  average  teacher 


INTRODUCTION  XXvii 

need  not  spend  much  time  in  mastering  the  more  tech- 
nical details  of  modern  psychology,  is  obvious;  but  it 
is  equally  obvious  that  the  average  teacher  should  be 
famiUar  with  what  may,  perhaps,  be  called  general  psy- 
chology, particularly  in  its  genetic  aspects.  No  process 
is  known  to  man  by  which  knowledge  will  surely  be 
converted  into  sympathy  and  insight ;  but  sympathy 
and  insight,  however  great,  are  invariably  made  greater 
when  knowledge  is  added  to  them. 

In  this  belief,  Professor  Royce's  exposition  of  the 
main  facts  and  principles  of  psychology  is  gladly 
included  in  a  series  of  volumes  intended  particularly 
to  meet  the  needs  of  studious  teachers. 

NICHOLAS  MURRAY  BUTLER. 

Columbia  University,  New  York, 
April  15,  1903. 


OUTLINES    OF    PSYCHOLOGY 

\  CHAPTER   I 

Introductory  Definitions  and  Explanations 

§  I.  Psychology,  in  a  general  way,  has  the  same  sort 
of  relation  to  the  functions  of  the  human  mind  that 
physiology  has  to  the  functions  of  the  human  body. 
Psychology  is,  namely,  the  doctrine  which  attempts  to 
describe  our  mental  life,  and,  as  far  as  possible,  to  dis- 
cover its  conditions  and  its  laws.  ^And  by  our  mental 
life,  as  opposed  to  our  physical  life,  we  mean  a  certain 
collection  of  states  and  of  processes  with  which,  from 
moment  to  moment,  each  one  of  us  is,  in  his  own  case, 
very  directly  or  immediately  acquainted,  while,  on  the 
other  hand,  it  is  impossible  that  any  one  else  besides 
the  original  observer,  whose  mental  Hfe  this  is,  should 
ever  get  this  immediate  sort  of  acquaintance  with  just 
this  collection  of  states  and  processes.  Herein,  then,  lies 
the  essential  characteristic  of  our  mental  life.  Others 
may  learn,  from  observing  our  acts  and  our  words,  a 
great  deal  about  this,  our  own  mental  life ;  but  each  one 
of  us  is  the  only  being  capable  of  becoming  directly 
aware  of  his  own  mental  states.     On  the  other  hand, 

B  I 


2  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

however,  our  physical  life,  in  its  external  manifesta- 
tions, may  be  observed  by  any  one  who  gets  the  op- 
portunity. And  thus  the  fact  that  the  mental  Ufe  of 
each  one  of  us  can  be  directly  present,  as  a  series  of 
experienced  facts,  to  one  person  only,  may  well  be  used 
as  a  means  of  defining  the  difference  between  our  physi- 
cal and  our  mental  life.  Thus  physical  facts  are  usually 
conceived  as  **  public  property,"  patent  to  all  properly 
equipped  observers.  All  such  observers,  according  to 
our  customary  view,  see  the  same  physical  facts.  But 
psychical  facts  are  essentially  "  private  property,"  ex- 
istent for  one  alone.  This  constitutes  the  very  concep- 
tion of  the  difference  between  *' inner"  psychical  or 
mental,  and  physical  or  ''outer"  facts  —  a  conception 
behind  which,  in  the  following  discussion,  we  shall  not 
seek  to  go.-^ 

1  This  method  of  defining  the  general  nature  of  the  mental  world,  and 
of  distinguishing  the  mental  from  the  physical  world,  is  founded  upon 
philosophical  considerations  which  I  have  more  fully  explained  elsewhere. 
Cf.  my  Spirit  of  Modern  Philosophy  (Boston,  Riverside  Press,  1892), 
Chapter  XII;  the  essay  on  "Self-consciousness,  Social  Consciousness, 
and  Nature,"  in  my  Studies  of  Good  and  Evil  (New  York,  Appleton  &  Co., 
1898);  and  the  second  and  fourth  lectures  in  my  Gifford  Lectures ;  The 
World  and  the  Individual,  Second  Series  (New  York,  The  Macmillan 
Company,  1901).  The  present  is  no  place  for  developing  these  meta- 
physical considerations.  It  may,  however,  interest  the  philosophically 
disposed  reader  to  know  that  my  own  philosophical  position  is  that  of 
Constructive  or  Absolute  Idealism,  and  that,  accordingly,  the  distinction 
here  made  between  the  mental  and  the  physical  worlds  is,  to  my  mind, 
only  a  relative  distinction  due  to  the  special  conditions  to  which  our 
human  knowledge  of  both  these  worlds  is  subject.     None  the  less,  for 


DEFINITIONS   AND    EXPLANATIONS  3 

Y  §  2.  It  is  this  fundamental  difference  that  leads  us 
often  to  speak  of  the  mental  as  the  *'  internal  Hfe  "  or 
the  "  inner  world,"  and  to  oppose  it  both  to  our  own 
physical  life  and  to  the  ''external  physical  world." 
This  way  of  expressing  the  distinction  between  mental 
facts  and  all  others  is  fairly  good,  but  must  be  carefully 
guarded  against  misinterpretation.  The  physiological 
processes  of  our  bodies  are  physical,  but  are  indeed  also 
often  viewed  as  "internal,"  since  they  go  on  within  our 
bodies,  and  are  in  general  mainly  hidden  from  direct 
external  observation.  But  our  mental  life  is  **  internal  " 
in  quite  a  different  sense.  Digestion,  circulation,  and 
the  changes  of  our  tissues  are  processes  which  are 
actually  altogether  hidden  from  many  forms  of  outer 
observation,  and  which,  at  best,  can  only  be  observed 
very  partially,  and  for  the  most  part  very  indirectly,  by 
observers  who  view  us  from  without.  But,  on  the  other 
hand,  these  processes,  in  the  case  of  each  one  of  us,  are 
also  very  ill  known  to  us  ourselves,  and  are  in  large 
part  not  even  indirectly  represented  by  any  of  our  own 
conscious  mental  states.  So  that,  when  we  speak  of  our 
physiological  processes  as  internal,  the  word  "internal," 

human  ex|)erience,  in  so  far  as  it  is  concerned  with  the  special  sciences, 
the  distinction  here  made  is  of  paramount  practical  importance. 

My  colleague,  Professor  Miinsterberg,  whose  philosophical  position  is 
not  the  same  as  my  own,  has  nevertheless  quite  independently  reached 
the  same  definition  of  the  fundamental  contrast  between  the  mental  and 
the  material  phenomena.  See  his  Psychology  and  Life  and  his  Grundzitge 
der  Psychologic. 


4  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

although  it  here  generally  implies  **  hidden,  in  whole 
or  in  part,  from  actual  outer  observation,"  does  not 
imply  "directly  felt  by  us  ourselves."  But  when  we 
speak  of  a  pain  as  an  ''inner"  mental  fact,  we  mean 
that  while  nobody  but  the  sufferer  can  possibly  get  any 
direct  acquaintance  with  its  presence,  the  sufferer  him- 
self can  do  so,  and  is  aware  of  the  pain.  Furthermore, 
the  fact  that  other  observers  cannot  directly  watch  our 
inner  physiological  processes,  is  itself  something  rela- 
tively accidental,  dependent  upon  the  limitations  of  the 
sense  organs,  or  upon  the  defective  instrumental  devices, 
of  those  who  watch  us.  But  the  fact  that  our  mental 
states  are  incapable  of  observation  by  anybody  but  our- 
selves seems  to  be  not  an  accidental,  but  an  essential 
character  of  these  mental  states.  Were  physiologists 
better  endowed  with  sense  organs  and  with  instruments 
of  exact  observation,  we  can,  if  we  choose,  conceive 
them  as,  by  some  now  unknown  device,  coming  to 
watch  the  very  molecules  of  our  brains ;  but  we  cannot 
conceive  them,  in  any  possible  case,  as  observing  from 
without  our  pains  or  our  thoughts  in  the  sense  in  which 
physical  facts  are  observable.  Were  my  body  as  trans- 
parent as  crystal,  or  could  all  my  internal  physical 
functions  be  viewed  and  studied  as  easily  as  one  now 
observes  a  few  small  particles  eddying  in  a  glass  of 
nearly  clear  water,  my  mental  states  could  not  even 
then  be  seen  floating  in  my  brain.  No  microscope 
could   conceivably  reveal   them.     To    me   alone  would 


DEFINITIONS  AND   EXPLANATIONS  5 

these  states  be  known.  And  I  should  not  see  them 
from  without;  I  should  simply /;2^  them,  or  be  aware 
of  them.  And  what  it  is  to  find  them,  or  to  be  aware 
of  them,  I  alone  can  tell  myself. 

§  3.    Mental  life  has  thus  been  defined  by  pointing 
out  its  contrast  with    all  that  is  physical.     Now,   psy- 
chology is  to  undertake  the  study  of  mental  life  for  the 
sake  of  trying  to  describe  and,  in  a  measure,  to  explain 
its    facts.     But    this    undertaking    may,    for    the   first, 
appear  to  be  quite  hopeless.     How  can    one  describe, 
with  any  sort  of   accuracy,  where  the  facts  to  be  de- 
scribed are  in  any  case  open  to  the  inspection  of  one 
observer  only  t     Successful  description,  made  with  any 
scientific    purpose,  seems   to   involve  the  possibility  of 
comparing  together  the  various  attempts  at  description 
made  by  different  observers  in  view  of  the  same  facts. 
When  astronomers  observe  celestial  objects,  they  com- 
pare the  results  of  the  various  observations  of  different 
astronomers.     Upon  the  multitude  of  trained  observers, 
occupying,  upon  occasion,  widely  different  positions  on 
the  earth's  surface,  but  all  looking  at  the  same  heavenly 
bodies,  the   possibility  of   the   growth  of   astronomical 
science  seems  to  depend.     How,  then,  shall  psychology 
progress   if,   in   our  various    mental    lives,  no   two  ob- 
servers can  ever  take  note  of  precisely  the  same  facts  ? 
Is  it  not  as  if  there  were  as  many  real  moons  as  there 
are  astronomers  observing  the  heavens,  and  a  different 
real  moon  for  each  astronomer,  which  nobody  but  him- 


6  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

self  could  ever  see  ?  In  such  a  case,  one  may  ask, 
What  would  become  of  astronomy  ? 

Without  in  the  least  going  into  the  extended  and 
interesting  philosophical  problems  suggested  by  these 
questions,  it  is  enough  here  to  point  out  at  once  that, 
while  no  two  persons  among  us  can  ever  observe  the 
same  series  of  mental  facts  and  processes,  psychological 
study  is  nevertheless  made  possible  by  the  fact  (a  fact 
of  the  most  fundamental  importance)  that  we  all  of  us 
not  only  have  our  mental  states,  but  also  appear  to  give 
these  fnental  states  a  physical  expression  in  certain  bodily 
acts,  viz.,  in  what  may  be  called  our  expressive  func- 
tions. The  mental  states  themselves  each  one  of  us 
observes  for  himself  alone.  Their  physical  expression 
is  something  that,  like  any  other  physical  fact,  is  patent 
to  all  observers. 

Now,  any  one  of  us  can  of  ten  •  observe  for  himself 
what  sort  of  physical  expression  some  given  sort  of 
mental  states  gets  in  his  own  case.  Thus  one  can 
sometimes  observe  how,  by  cries  or  by  groans,  he  him- 
self gives  expression  to  his  own  pain ;  or  how,  by 
appropriate  bodily  attitudes,  he  expresses  the  mental 
states  of  attentive  interest  which  we  call  "  looking," 
"  listening,"  "  watching,"  and  the  like ;  or,  finally,  how 
he  adapts  the  familiar  words  of  his  mother-tongue  to 
the  expression  of  multitudinous  inner  moods,  and  other 
personal  experiences,  for  many  of  which,  in  fact,  we 
have  no  definite  and  conscious  bodily  expression  at  our 


DEFINITIONS   AND    EXPLANATIONS  / 

voluntary  disposal  except  such  words  as  chance  to  occur 
to  us  as  appropriate  at  the  moment  when  these  states 
are  passing.     Cries,  groans,  sighs,  tears,  gestures,  atti- 
tudes, words,  and   other  far  less  easily  observable   ex- 
pressions —  some    voluntary,    some    involuntary  —  are 
thus  found  to  accompany  our  mental  processes.     But  all 
these  expressive  movements  are  themselves  facts  in  the 
physical   world,    and    are,    as    such,    matters   both   for 
common  observation  and  for  exact   scientific   scrutiny. 
Most  of  these  expressive  acts  show  marked  similarity, 
either  in  several,  in  many,  or  in  all  men.     And  mean- 
while, what  states  in  each  one  of  us  they  express,  the 
individual    observer    experiences  for    himself.     In   at- 
tempting  to  describe   our   mental   experiences   to   one 
another  we  therefore  constantly  make  use  of  the  names 
of  f amiUar  expressive  functions,  such  as  laughter,  weep- 
ing, and  the  like. 

Some  of  our  expressive  acts,  like  the  ones  just  named, 
viewed  apart  from  their  names,  are  of  instincjjyejadgjn        ^'  ^ 
and  are   only  partially  under  the  influence  of  conven- 
tions.    Other  expressive  acts,  Uke  the  use  of  the  words 
of   our  mother-tongue   to  embody  or   to   describe  our  ^  ^^' ^ 
mental   states,  are  of    purely ^^yentiona].  origin,  and        (J 
have  only  become  moulded  by  slow  degrees  to  a  certain 
sort  of   uniformity  as  regards   their  relation  to  similar 
mental  states   in    many  people.     Whether   one    person 
means  by  the  word  "  love  "  a  state  very  closely  similar 
to  the  state  that  another  person   means   by  the    same 


8  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

word  may  be,  and  often  is,  a  very  diflficult  question  to 
decide.  Yet  the  use  of  the  words  of  our  common 
mother-tongue  to  express  our  mental  states,  guided  as 
this  use  has  been  since  childhood  by  the  effort  to  con- 
form our  expressions  to  the  comprehension  of  our 
fellows,  is  often  brought  to  a  point  which  enables  us  to 
be  decidedly  sure  that  the  states  which  many  people 
agree  in  describing  in  given  words  are  themselves  in 
pretty  close  agreement.  With  some  caution,  the  same 
may  be  regarded  as  true,  within  limits,  as  to  the  states 
described  in  various  languages  by  parallel  words  and 
phrases. 

While  we  are  then  unable  to  make  our  mental 
states  objects  of  common  observation,  in  the  sense  in 
which  the  astronomers  are  said  to  observe  the  same 
star,  we  nevertheless  can  observe  in  common  our  nat- 
ural and  conventional,  our  simple  and  complex,  our 
voluntary  and  involuntary,  our  more  subtle  and  our 
less  subtle  motor  expressions  of  our  mental  states, 
whether  in  our  outward  deeds  or  in  the  permanent 
products  of  these  deeds  (as  in  works  of  skilful  art), 
or  in  our  words,  or  in  our  momentary  gestures,  or, 
finally,  in  our  established  habits  of  behaviour.  The 
inner  meaning  of  such  expressions  each  of  us  can,  by 
more  or  less  attentive  scrutiny,  discover  for  himself. 
Their  agreement  in  many  persons  enables  mental 
facts,  private  though  they  be,  to  be  indirectly  sub- 
mitted  to   a   comparative   study  in    many  people,  and 


DEFINITIONS   AND    EXPLANATIONS  9 

to  some  sort  of  generalisation,  classification,  and  even 
explanation. 

§  4.  While  this  outward  physical  expression,  which 
our  mental  life  gets,  makes  psychology,  as  a  compara- 
tive and  more  or  less  scientific  study  of  mind,  pos- 
sible, our  study  itself  is  very  greatly  aided  by  a 
further  consideration,  viz.,  that  we  not  only  express 
our  minds  through  our  movements,  but  seem  to  our- 
selves to  be  depende7it,  for  at  least  very  much  of  our 
mental  life,  upon  more  or  less  definable  physical  condi- 
tions, which  we  recognise,  even  apart  from  any  special 
study,  as  matters  well  known  in  daily  life,  and  as 
matters  which  we  can  study  in  common.  Thus  the  pri- 
vate mental  condition  is  noticed  by  its  one  observer  to 
vary  with  the  presence  or  absence  of  physical  facts 
that  he  and  his  fellows  can  observe  together.  That 
one  cannot  see  in  the  dark,  that  one  feels  cold  at  a 
time  when  the  thermometer  reveals  the  physical  fact 
of  a  low  temperature,  that  violent  physical  exercise 
makes  one  weary  —  these  are  facts  which  have,  at  the 
very  same  time,  their  psychical  aspect  manifest  to  one 
observer,  and  their  physical  aspect  manifest  to  all  ob- 
servers. A  more  scientific  study,  moreover,  shows  us 
that  not  merely  some,  but  all  of  our  mental  states 
vary  with  physical  conditions  of  one  sort  or  another. 
Now,  this  sort  of  union  of  the  public  and  the  private, 
of  the  generally  accessible  and  of  the  purely  individ- 
ual,   gives   us   many    means    for   indirectly    comparing 


10  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

and   classifying    mental   facts   and    for   studying   their 
conditions  in  various  people. 

§  5.  But  both  the  expressive  movements  and  the 
physical  conditions  thus  far  mentioned  prove,  upon 
closer  examination,  to  have  a  character  as  physical 
processes  that  makes  them  still  further  the  topics  of 
a  scientific  scrutiny ;  for  we  possess,  as  a  most  impor- 
tant part  of  our  physical  structure,  our  nervojts  systems. 
And  it  may  be  shown  that  the  expressive  physical 
functions  (acts,  gestures,  words,  habits,  etc.)  in  which 
our  mental  life  gets  its  outward  representation  and 
embodiment,  are  all  of  them,  as  physical  events,  deter- 
mined by  physiological  processes  that  occur  ift  our  ner- 
vous systems.  In  other  words,  the  functions  of  the 
nervous  system,  while  they  include  many  other  pro- 
cesses as  well,  still  also  include,  as  a  portion  of  them- 
selves, precisely  those  functions  by  which,  from 
moment  to  moment,  our  mental  states  get  expressed. 
Thus  the  scientific  study  of  our  expressive  functions 
becomes  Hnked  to  the  general  study  of  nervous  physi- 
ology. On  the  other  hand,  however,  those  numerous 
physical  conditions,  both  without  and  within  our 
bodies,  which  have  been  mentioned  as  appearing  to 
determine  in  some  way  our  mental  states,  prove  to  be 
conditions  that  are  effective  in  so  far  as  they  at  the 
sa7ne  ti'tne  physically  influence  our  nervous  systems. 
Thus  in  two  ways  the  scientific  study  of  mental  life 
may  get  aid  from  the  study  of  the  nervous  system. 


DEFINITIONS  AND    EXPLANATIONS  II 

§  6.  Now  the  physical  functions  of  the  nervous 
system  are  capable  of  a  very  extended  comparative 
and  experimental  investigation.  Those  of  the  nervous 
functions  which  are  not  closely  related  (as  apparent 
conditions  or  as  expressions)  to  our  mental  processes, 
appear,  in  the  light  of  such  study,  to  differ  from 
those  nervous  functions  which  are  so  related,  chiefly  ^ 
in  respect  of  the  reladve  sirnplicity  of  the  nerv^ous."^^^^ 
functions,  which  are  not  thus  closely  related  to  the 
mind,  when  compared  with  the  relative  complexity  of 
those  nervous  functions  which  are  more  intimately 
related  to  mental  processes.  But  no  one  easily  de- 
finable dividing  line  appears  between  the  two,  except 
the  familiar  fact  that  the  nervous  functions  most 
closely  related  to  our  m.ental  life  are  locahsed,  so  far 
as  concerns  their  central  stations,  in  the  cortex  or 
grey  matter  at  the  external  surface  of  the  brain,  while 
the  nervous  functions  that  have  no  discoverable  men- 
tal accompaniment  are,  for  the  most  part,  directed 
from  centres  placed  below  the  level  of  this  brain  cor- 
tex. Otherwise,  as  we  shall  see  from  time  to  time 
hereafter,  it  is  hard  to  prove  any  essential  difference 
in  kind  between  the  physical  functions  whose  ner- 
vous conditions  are  centred  in  the  cortex  and  those 
which  are  centred  lower  down.  The  higher  functions 
are,  indeed,  often  vastly  the  more  complex.  They 
change  much  more  during  life,  and  under  the  in- 
fluence of   our  experience,  than  do  our  lower  nervous 


12  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

functions.  They  show  more  signs  of  what  is  often 
called  "spontaneity"  —  that  is,  of  a  certain  relative 
(although  never  complete)  independence  of  the  pres-j:, 
ent  external  physical  surroundings  in  which  our  body  ^ 
chances  to  be  placed.  But  these,  although  large  differ- 
ences, are  differences  of  degree.  Physically  speaking, 
and  despite  vast  differences  in  detail,  the  same  general 
or  fundamental  types,  both  of  structure  and  of  function, 
are  observable,  both  high  up  and  low  down  in  the 
nervous  centres. 

§  7.  Yet  one  must  insist  that  the  study  of  neuro- 
logical facts  has,  although  very  great,  still  only  relative 
value  for  the  psychologist.  For  one  thing,  what  the 
psychologist  wants  to  understand  is  mental  life,  and  to 
this  end  he  uses  all  his  other  facts  only  as  means  ;  and 
for  the  rest,  any  physical  expression  of  mental  life  which 
we  can  learn  to  interpret,  becomes  as  genuinely  interest- 
ing to  the  psychologist  as  does  a  brain  function.  A 
pyramid  or  a  flint  hatchet,  a  poem  or  a  dance,  a  game 
or  a  war,  a  cry  or  a  book,  the  nursery  play  of  a  child  or 
the  behaviour  of  an  insane  person,  may  be  a  physical 
expression  of  mental  life  such  as  the  appreciative 
psychologist  can  both  observe  and  more  or  less  fully 
comprehend.  The  study  of  such  facts,  and  of  their 
physical  causes  and  results,  throws  light  both  upon 
what  goes  on  in  minds  and  upon  the  place  which  minds 
occupy  in  the  natural  world.  To  be  a  student  of  psy- 
chology  thus   involves    three    essential    things:  (i)  to 


DEFINITIONS   AND   EXPLANATIONS  1 3 

observe  carefully  the  signs  which  express  mental  life, 
and  to  interpret  these  expressions  as  far  as  possible ; 
(2)  to  examine  those  physical  processes  which  in  any 
case  appear  to  condition  mental  life  or  to  cause  its 
expressions  to  occur;  and  (3),  with  constant  reference 
to  the  foregoing  classes  of  facts,  to  describe  by  means 
of  a  self-examination,  or  **  introspection,"  the  one  series 
of  mental  facts  which  can  alone  be  directly  observed  by 
the  individual  psychologist.  Studies  of  the  sorts  (i)  and 
(2)  can  be  made  by  all  properly  equipped  observers 
together,  and  in  presence  of  what  are  called  the  "  same  " 
external  facts.  Studies  of  the  sort  (3)  each  psychologist 
must  make  alone  for  himself ;  but  by  the  aid  of  the 
facts  acquired  through  studies  of  the  sorts  (2)  and  (3) 
he  can  indirectly  compare  his  introspective  results  with 
those  of  other  psychologists.  The  first  two  sorts  of 
study  are  very  greatly  furthered  by  what  we  know  of 
the  nervous  system,  but  are  by  no  means  confined  to 
this  region  of  knowledge.  Psychology  is  by  no  means 
a  branch  of  neurology.  On  the  contrary,  wherever,  in 
the  physical  world,  any  mind  gets  intelligible  expression, 
or  any  physical  conditions  appear  to  determine  mental 
states,  the  psychologist  finds  what  he  wants,  in  so  far  as 
he  seeks  means  of  comparing  his  introspective  observa- 
tions with  the  experiences  of  other  minds. 

§  8.  The  foregoing  conditions  already  serve  to  define 
the  principal  methods  of  psychology,  whereof  we  may 
next  name  the  most  important. 


14  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

(i)  Our  first  method  —  the  study  of  the  expressive 
sigfis  of  mental  life  —  is  in  some  forms  extremely 
familiar  to  the  popular  mind.  Every  person  of  any 
experience  is  his  own  psychologist  in  judging  almost 
constantly  the  ideas,  moods,  and  intents  of  his  fellows, 
by  watching  not  only  their  faces,  but  also  their  whole 
range  of  voluntary  and  involuntary  expressive  move- 
ments. The  relatively  scientific  use  of  such  study  as  a 
method  of  more  careful  psychological  investigation 
depends  both  upon  extending  the  range  of  its  application, 
and  upon  rendering  more  minute  the  scrutiny  employed. 
The  naturalist  employs  this  method  when  he  studies  the 
minds  of  animals  through  an  observation  of  their  be- 
haviour and  of  their  skill.  It  should  be  carefully 
remembered,  however,  that  not  merely  the  passing 
functions  of  the  moment,  but  the  established  habits  and 
the  permanent  physical  productions  of  any  animal,  are 
of  importance  as  outwardly  expressing  its  mind ;  and  a 
similar  thing  holds  of  physical  facts  and  processes  that 
express  the  cooperative  work  of  many  intelligent  beings. 
Works  of  art,  institutions,  languages,  customs,  faiths, 
cities,  national  life  in  general  —  all  these  things  and 
processes  are  instances  of  complex  expressions  of 
mental  life  in  outwardly  observable  physical  forms. 

The  inevitable  dangers  and  difficulties  of  this,  the 
most  constantly  employed  of  all  the  methods  of  study- 
ing minds,  are  meanwhile,  in  part,  well  known.  The 
facts  to  be  studied  are  very  numerous  and  complex,  and 


DEFINITIONS  AND   EXPLANATIONS  1 5 

easily  misjudged,  especially  in  case  of  minds  that  arc 
markedly  different  from  our  own.  A  good  example  of 
this  difficulty  is  the  common  failure  of  even  very  intelli- 
gent men  to  understand  a  good  many  among  the  expres- 
sive functions  of  women,  or  the  similar  failure  of 
women  to  comprehend  a  great  many  among  those  of 
men.  The  barrier  of  sex  will  probably  prove  a  per- 
manent hindrance,  in  some  important  directions  and 
regions,  to  the  progress  of  the  scientific  study  of  the 
human  mind,  so  far  as  that  study  seeks  to  make  the 
mental  life  of  one  sex  fully  comprehensible  to  psycholo- 
gists who  belong  to  the  other. 

(2)  The  second  method  of  the  psychologist  begins  by 
proceeding  backwards  from  the  study  of  the  outwardly 
expressive  functions,  in  which  our  mental  states  get  a 
sort  of  embodiment,  to  the  scrutiny  of  their  nervous 
conditions.  These,  once  found  to  be,  as  they  are, 
centred  in  the  organisation  and  in  the  functions  of  the 
brain,  this  second  method  develops  into  that  of  the  study 
of  the  relatio7ts  that  exist  betivecn  mental  life  afid  brai?t 
processes.  This  method  is  necessarily  an  indirect  one. 
It  takes  very  numerous  special  forms.  One  of  these 
is  furnished  by  the  study  of  nervous  diseases,  with 
reference  to  those  changes,  in  the  expressive  signs  of 
mental  life,  which  are  the  result  of  whatever  form  of 
nervous  disorder  is  each  time  in  question.  In  so  far  as 
the  phenomena  of  insanity  are  already,  despite  our 
defective  knowledge,  traceable  to  otherwise  known  and 


1.6  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

definable  physical  disorders  of  the  nervous  system,  the 
study  of  such  phenomena  for  the  purpose  of  the  psy- 
chologist also  obviously  belongs  here.  A  further 
extension  of  the  present  method  is  offered  by  those 
experiments  upon  the  nervous  systems  of  animals 
which  involve  any  noteworthy  and  intelligible  changes 
in  the  signs  of  mind  which  these  animals  show.  And 
it  is  thus  that  the  functions  of  the  brain  have  been  fre- 
quently and  very  fruitfully  studied  during  the  last 
twenty-five  years,  despite  the  difficulty  of  drawing  exact 
conclusions  as  regards  the  human  brain  and  the  human 
mind  from  the  interpretation  of  such  experiments.  Nor 
does  the  use  of  the  present  method  cease  here  ;  for, 
apart  from  disease  and  from  vivisection,  we  are  able  to 
perform  an  experiment  upon  the  functions  of  the  brain 
whenever  (as  by  stimulating  our  sense  organs  in  par- 
ticular ways)  we  can  harmlessly  bring  about  any 
physical  change  in  a  living  man,  whose  mental  life  can 
indirectly  be  studied  through  his  own  accounts  of  it, 
while  the  physical  effect  that  the  experiment  has  upon 
his  brain  functions  is  meanwhile  capable  of  a  more  or 
less  determinate  estimate.  It  is  in  this  way  that  we 
study  what  is  sometimes  called  "  the  physiology  of  the 
senses." 

§  9.  (3)  In  close  connection  with  the  first,  and  in  fre- 
quent connection  with  the  second  of  the  foregoing 
methods,  stands  the  method  of  introspection,  by  which 
the  individual  psychologist  undertakes  to  observe  his  own 


DEFINITIONS  AND    EXPLANATIONS  1/ 

mefttal  states  mid  processes.  If  carried  on  alone,  with- 
out constant  reference  to  the  physical  conditions  of  the 
mental  life  observed,  and  without  a  frequent  comparing 
of  notes  with  one's  fellows,  introspection  can  accomplish 
little  of  service  for  psychology.  But,  in  union  with 
other  methods,  introspection  becomes  an  absolutely  in- 
dispensable adjunct  to  all  serious  psychological  study. 
The  man  who  has  never  observed  within  will  never 
be  able  to  interpret  the  minds  of  others.  The  student 
of  neurology  can  directly  contribute  to  psychological 
science  only  in  case  he  learns  to  scrutinise  carefully  his 
individual  mental  processes,  even  while  he  indirectly 
learns  about  their  nervous  conditions.  Introspection  is, 
however,  for  the  scientific  psychologist,  despite  its  im- 
portance, rather  to  be  used  as  an  auxiliary  of  the  other 
methods  than  as  a  method  capable  of  leading  the  way. 
For  psychology  is  concerned  with  what  is  common  to 
many  or  to  all  human  minds.  We  are  guided  in  our 
search  for  these  common  characters  of  minds  by  studying 
the  expressions  and  the  conditions  of  mental  life.  Intro- 
spection helps  us  mainly  to  an  interpretation  of  the  com- 
mon features.  However  expert  a  man  may  be  in  his 
own  mental  states,  it  therefore  takes  a  wide  intercourse 
with  his  fellows,  an  outwardly  observant  examination  of 
the  signs  of  mind  in  others,  and  a  careful  study  of  the 
physical  conditions  in  which  given  mental  states  arise,  to 
reach  any  conclusions  worthy  of  scientific  consideration. 
The  truly   great  "  introspective  psychologists  "    of  the 


1 8  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

past,  from  Aristotle  down,  were  none  of  them,  as  psy- 
chologists, at  all  exclusively  devoted  to  the  study  of  their 
own  personal  experiences.  They  were,  for  instance, 
greatly  influenced  both  by  the  traditional  views  of  their 
social  order,  and  by  the  popular  psychology  which  lay 
more  or  less  concealed  in  the  languages  that  they  used. 
(4)  A  centrally  important  modern  method,  which 
unites  or  may  unite- features  belonging  to  all  the  fore- 
going methods,  is  the  method  oi  psychological  experiment 
in  the  stricter  sense.  This  method  involves  bringing 
to  pass  me7ital  processes  of  greater  or  less  complexity  (acts 
of  attention,  simple  acts  of  will  or  more  complex  acts  of 
choice,  associations  of  ideas,  processes  of  memory  or 
of  computation,  emotional  states,  etc.)  under  physical 
and  tnental  conditions  which  caii  be  exactly  controlled  or 
determined.  Then,  according  as  he  wishes,  the  psy- 
chologist studies  one  or  more  of  the  various  noteworthy 
aspects  of  the  situation  that  has  been  experimentally 
brought  to  pass.  Thus  one  can  examine  by  direct  intro- 
spection what  goes  on  in  a  single  observer  under  the 
circumstance  of  a  given  experiment.  Here  one  takes 
advantage  of  the  definiteness  which  the  experimental 
devices  may  give  to  the  whole  experience.  Or  again, 
in  a  series  of  related  experiments,  one  can  introspec- 
tively  note  how  the  mental  states  or  processes  alter 
as  the  physical  conditions  undergo  certain  determinate 
variations.  Further,  through  comparing  the  reports,  or 
the  other  expressive  signs  which  various  subjects  give 


DEFINITIONS   AND    EXPLANATIONS  19 

of  what  goes  on  in  their  minds  under  similar  experimen- 
tal conditions,  one  can  get  results  as  to  the  relations 
that  exist  between  the  mental  life  of  various  people.  In 
some  cases  it  is  also  possible  to  determine,  to  a  certain 
extent,  what  physical  changes  in  the  central  nervous 
system  are  produced  by  the  experiment,  and  thus  our 
knowledge  of  the  relations  of  particular  nervous  and 
particular  mental  states  may  be  furthered. 

Very  important  results  have  also  flowed  from  the 
careful  noting  of  the  various  time  relations  of  any  or  of 
all  the  foregoing  classes  of  facts  as  they  occur  when 
exact  experimental  conditions  have  been  established. 
The  problem,  how  long  a  given  mental  process  takes, 
and  how  this  time  element  varies  with  given  variations 
in  the  situation,  is  one  of  great  interest  to  the  psy- 
chologist. 

Experimental  psychology  is  the  most  recent  of  the 
branches  of  psychological  work.  For  the  most  part  it 
has  to  be  carried  on  in  special  laboratories,  where  there 
are  instrumental  means  for  measuring  time  relations,  as 
well  as  for  determining  precisely  the  physical  conditions 
under  which  the  mental  processes  to  be  studied  take 
place. 


^    ^^  \    ^:  CHAPTER  II 

—       r^     O"'  ^' 

The  Piii'sicAL  Signs  of  the  Presence  of  Mind 

§  10.  In  view  of  what  has  now  been  said  about 
methods,  we  may  best  begin  our  analysis  of  the  general 
characteristics  of  mental  life  by  asking  what  are  the 
most  general  classes  of  expressive  signs  by  which  the 
living  beings  that  have  minds  manifest  to  us  their  men- 
tal life.  How,  then,  do  those  animals  which  are  high 
enough  in  the  scale  to  seem  to  show  us  that  they  cer- 
tainly possess  mental  life  differ  from  those  living  beings 
which,  like  the  plants,  give  us  no   such   manifestations  .-* 

The  most  general  answer  to  this  question  is,  on  the 
whole,  not  very  difficult.  When  a  cat  watches  for  a 
mouse,  when  a  dog  finds  his  way  home  over  strange 
country,  we  do  not  doubt  that  here  are  real  signs  of  the 
presence  of  mind.  When  a  tree  that  is  cut  with  the  axe 
shows  no  sign  of  feehng  the  blow,  we  note  that  here 
signs  of  mind  are  absent.  To  be  quite  certain  just 
where  to  draw  the  line  between  living  beings  that  seem 
to  have  no  minds  and  living  beings  that  possess  minds, 
does  indeed  involve  us  in  great  difficulties.  But  there 
are  some  general  signs  of  mind  which  we  all  usually 
regard  as  unmistakable,  and  some  cases  of  lack   that 

20 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS  OF   THE  PRESENCE  OF   MIND        21 

seem  to  us  to  exclude  the  presence  of  any  functions 
such  as  the  psychologist  studies. 

In  the  most  general  way  of  viewing  the  matter,  beings 
that  seem  to  us  to  possess  minds  show  in  their  physical 
life  what  we  may  call  a  great  and  discriminating  sensi- 
tiveness to  what  goes  on  at  any  prese^it  time  in  their 
environmeiit.  And  by  this  their  sensitiveness  we  here 
mean  something  which,  though  a  sign  of  mind,  is  it- 
self purely  physical,  viz.,  a  capacity,  observable  from 
without,  to  adjust  themselves  by  fitting  movements,  or 
by  their  internal  physical  functions,  to  what  takes  place 
near  them.  This  sensitiveness  is  called  discriminating 
because  it  is  never  a  mere  tendency  to  respond  to  every 
sort  of  change  at  random,  or  to  all  effective  changes  in 
the  same  way ;  but  it  is  a  tendency  to  respond  to  someX 
•  changes  (e.g.  light  or  sound)  rather  than  to  others,  and' 
\to  various  changes  in  various  fitting  ways.  To  be  sure, 
plants  also  show  very  many  signs  of  well-adjusted  re- 
sponses to  the  changes  in  their  environments.  And 
even  so  those  functions  of  animals  which  need  show 
no  signs  of  any  mental  accompaniments  {e.g.  gland 
secretions,  or  the  regulation  of  the  body's  temperature) 
are  also  discriminatingly  sensitive,  in  the  physical  sense, 
to  external  conditions.  But  the  matter  is  here  first  one 
of  degree.  Greater,  quicker,  or  else  more  highly  elabo- 
rate is  the  sensitiveness  of  the  beings  that  appear  to 
have  minds,  as  it  is  shown  in  their  expressive  functions. 
Duller,  or  slower,  or   else  simpler,  appears  the  phys- 


22  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

ical  sensitiveness  of  the  non-mental  being  or  function 
when  the  environment  changes. 

But  it  is  not  merely  this  very  general  difference  in 
degree  which  we  note  when  we  consider  this  discrimi- 
nating sensitiveness  as  a  general  sign  of  the  presence 
of  mind.  If  we  come  closer  to  the  facts,  we  next  note 
that  the  general  sensitiveness  of  the  beings  that  have 
minds  determines  itself,  as  we  watch  it,  in  various 
special  ways,  and  expresses  itself  in  conduct,  whose 
relation  to  the  former  expenence  of  the  creature  in 
question,  and  whose  apparent  spontaneity  and  varia- 
bility it  concerns  us  to  study.  Let  us,  therefore,  ex- 
amine a  little  more  closely  the  various  classes  of  signs 
of  mind. 
/  §  II.  (i)  The  sensitiveness  of  the  psychically  en- 
'  dowed  beings  first  manifests  itself  by  what,  with  a 
ready  sympathy,  we  easily  interpret  as  signs  of  satis- 
factio7i  or  of  dissatisfaction^  of  pleasure  or  of  pain^ 
and  of  various  emotions.  These  signs,  in  their  simplest 
forms,  are  so  well  known  that  we  need  hardly  describe 
them.  Where,  as  in  the  earthworm,  we  can  detect 
nothing  that  we  ordinarily  call  intelligence,  we  seem 
to  be  able  to  note  the  signs  of  pain.  Writhing,  with- 
drawal from  a  source  of  injury,  and  other  simple  move- 
ments of  an  obviously  protective  character,  are  such 
elementary  signs  of  dissatisfaction.  Still  other  move- 
ments, even  in  very  low  forms  of  life,  seem  to  indicate 
satisfaction.     Higher  up  in  the  animal  scale  we  meet 


} 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF   MIND        23 

with  reactions  of  fear,  of  anger,  of  joy,  of  the  more 
elaborate  forms  of  desire,  and,  in  the  end,  of  numerous 
other  emotional  states.  We  may  for  the  present  class 
all  these  as  the  Signs  of  Feeling.  The  beings  that 
have  minds  thus  seem  to  us,  from  the  first,  to  show 
signs  of  more  or  less  immediately  valuing,  or  estimat- 
ing, their  own  state^  or  their  own  relatio7i  to  their^ 
environment. 

It  must  be  remarked  that  we  are  not  here  at  all  con- 
cerned with  the  question  whether  our  usual  interpreta- 
tion of  these  kinds  of  feelings  in  case  of  lower  animals, 
and  especially  in  case  of  animals  far  distant  from  our- 
selves, is  an  actually  correct  interpretation.  In  case  of 
human  beings,  our  interpretations  of  such  signs  of  men- 
tal life  are  subject  to  a  social  control  that  makes  us 
able  to  criticise,  with  more  or  less  success,  their  ac- 
curacy. But  in  case  of  lower  animals,  such  control  is 
no  longer  possible.  Nevertheless,  the  signs  of  mental 
life  that  we  seem  to  get,  the  movements  that  we  are 
disposed  to  interpret  as  of  psychical  significance,  in 
case  of  organisms  decidedly  distant  in  character  from 
our  own,  are  often  so  simple  as  to  suggest  at  once  a 
certain  useful  analysis  of  our  own  mental  processes, 
when  we  compare  the  latter  with  the  mental  processes 
which  these  creatures  seem  to  exhibit.  For  the  human 
being  shows  us  signs  of  feehng  that  are  inseparable 
from  the  signs  which  he  gives  us  of  his  intelligence  or 
of  his  volition.     Hence  we  do  not  at  once  so  easily  dis- 


24  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

tinguish  between  his  feelings  and  the  rest  of  his  mental 
life.  The  lower  organism  that  shows  no  indications  of 
higher  intelligence,  but  that  simply  indicates  what  we 
readily  take  to  be  a  state  of  feeling,  may  indeed  not 
be  exhibiting  to  us  any  genuine  sign  of  consciousness 
whatever.  Or,  at  least,  if  the  signs  do  stand  for  a  gen- 
uine consciousness,  the  psychologist  may  be  unable  to 
interpret  the  facts  with  the  clearness  possible  in  case 
of  human  beings.  Yet  the  analogy  of  these  simpler 
reactions  to  certain  aspects,  present  in  the  behaviour 
of  human  beings,  are  useful  to  us  for  the  purpose  of 
beginning  an  analysis  both  of  the  functions  and  of 
the  mental  processes  that  appear  in  connection  with 
higher  organisms.  Hence  the  use  of  these  symptoms 
that,  while  extremely  simple,  still  seem  to  us  to  mani- 
fest mental  life.  We  cite  them  here,  not  because  their 
interpretation  is  psychologically  certain,  but  because 
they  attract  our  attention  to  an  aspect  of  mental  life 
which  we  shall  henceforth  distinguish,  namely,  the  as- 
pect of  the  feelings. 

§  12.  (2)  The  second  manifestation  of  the  sensitive- 
ness of  beings  that  appear  to  us  to  have  minds  takes 
the  form  of  tendencies  on  their  part  to  discriminate 
between  the  various  kinds  of  physical  facts  and  pro- 
cesses in  their  environmejity  to  react  to  some  and  not 
to  others^  and  to  react  iri  stuh  a  way,  to  those  by 
which  they  are  i7ifluenced,  as  seems  to  show  us  that 
they    discriminate    between    these    various    classes    of 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS  OF  THE    PRESENCE   OF   MIND         25 

physical  facts.  The  manifestations  of  sensitiveness* 
which  thus  appear  are  very  closely  bound  up  with 
those  signs  of  feeling,  that  is  of  satisfaction  and 
dissatisfaction,  which  we  have  just  characterised.  On 
the  other  hand,  these  signs  of  sensitiveness  to  the 
physical  differences  of  the  environment  tend  from 
the  very  first  to  a  far  greater  specialisation  than  is 
possessed  by  the  mere  signs  of  feeling  as  such. 
Thus,  the  creature  endowed  with  what  we  take  to  be 
mental  characteristics  may  appear  to  be  sensitive  to 
the  presence  of  light,  and  sensitive  to  differences  in 
intensity  of  light  or  in  the  colour  of  the  light.  Or  it 
may  respond  to  considerable  jars  and  shocks  which 
occur  in  the  physical  environment.  Or  again,  it  may 
behave  differently  according  to  whether  the  more  deli- 
cate form  of  vibration  which  constitutes  a  sound  is 
present  or  not,  or  according  as  it  is  touched  or  not 
by  an  external  physical  object.  Its  reactions  in  the 
presence  of  such  stimuli  may  take  the  simple  form  of 
approaching  the  source  of  the  stimuli,  or  of  otherwise 
moving  so  as  to  increase  the  stimuli,  as  if  the  resulting 
experiences  were  agreeable.  Or  the  reactions  may  seem 
to  express  dissatisfaction  with  some  stimulus,  through 
a  tendency  to  remove  the  organism  from  exposure 
thereto.  But  on  the  basis  of  these  more  fundamental 
and  simple  reactions  of  approach  and  retreat  there 
develop,  in  all  higher  creatures,  a  very  richly  varied 
collection   of    responses   for   which    the    only   general 


26  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

pescription  is  that  they  tend  to  be  different  for  different! 
ftimuliy  and  the  same  for  the  same  stimulus.  Thus, 
the  reactions  to  light  tend  to  include  the  acts 
which  we  interpret  as  looki^ig.  They  may  also  tend 
to  involve  a  vast  number  of  reactions  which  we 
interpret  as  involving  discriminations  of  colours  and 
shades.  And  similar  varieties  exist  in  case  of  other 
senses. 

Now  it  is  true  that,  in  all  the  higher  animals,  such 
discriminating  sensitiveness  shows  itself,  at  least  in 
the  animal  that  has  for  some  time  been  exposed  to 
disturbance,  principally  in  connection  with  the  signs 
of  mind  that  we  shall  mention  in  our  subsequent 
enumeration  —  that  is,  in  connection  with  the  signs  of 
what  is  called  recognition,  of  intellect,  or  of  choice. 
Yet  all  the  higher  and  more  complex  reactions  of  an 
animal  must  depend  upon  its  power  to  discriminate 
between  the  various  disturbances  that  come  to  it  from 
without.  Whatever  habits  it  may  acquire,  however 
much  it  may  seem  to  be  independent  of  its  present 
situation,  and  dependent  upon  its  past  experience,  still 
its  present  behaviour  is,  in  all  normal  cases,  sure  to 
be  decidedly  influenced  by  its  present  relation  to  its 
environment.  The  signs  of  mind  thus  obtained  are 
the  Signs  of  Sensory  Experience;  and  so  the  dis- 
criminating sensitiveness  of  any  creature  to  the  im- 
pressions which  the  environment  is  constantly  making 
upon   its   organism   is,    quite   apart   from   the   relation 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF   MIND        27 

of  this  sensitiveness  to  the  signs  of  feeling,  a  highly 
important  factor  in  determining  our  estimate  of  the 
sort  of  mental  life  that  the  creature  possesses. 

§  13.  It  seems  well  to  add  here  some  words  as  to 
the  psychological  uses  and  the  limitations  of  the  pres- 
ent class  of  the  signs  of  mind.  In  our  intercourse 
with  human  beings  we  sometimes  too  readily  overlook 
the  importance  of  the  present  relations  of  the  organism 
to  the  environment  as  determining  what  goes  on  in 
mental  life.  Thus,  a  teacher  may  be  disposed  to 
charge  a  pupil  with  stupidity,  when  a  closer  exami- 
nation reveals  the  fact  that  the  defect  in  the  child's 
conduct  is  due  to  some  slighter  derangement  of  sense 
organs.  So  the  short-sighted  or  the  astigmatic  pupil 
may  be  accused  of  stupidity,  or  inattentiveness,  or  even 
of  malicious  unwillingness  to  study,  because  his  defect 
of  vision  makes  him  unable  to  discriminate  objects  seen 
on  a  blackboard  at  a  certain  distance,  or  in  certain  rela- 
tionships to  one  another.  Similar  accusations  may  be 
even  more  easily  made  with  injustice  in  case  a  pupil  suf- 
fers from  a  slight  deafness.  In  all  such  instances  the 
failure  to  make  a  correct  diagnosis  of  mental  life  de- 
pends upon  not  observing,  or  upon  not  interpreting  cor- 
rectly, the  signs  of  the  presence  or  absence  of  a  certain 
condition  of  sensitiveness  to  present  impressions,  on  the 
part  of  the  organism  in  question.  In  other  words,  the 
signs  of  mental  Hfe  are  misinterpreted,  in  such  wise 
that  what  is  due  to  a  defect  of  sense  organs  is  judged 


28  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

as  a  defect  of  the  intellect,  or  of  the  will,  in  other 
words,  as  a  defect  in  the  habits  and  in  the  self-direction 
of  the  pupil.  It  follows  that  the  study  of  mind  viiist 
always  take  account  of  the  diffe7'ence  between  what  is 
due  to  the  present  relation  of  the  creature  to  its  environ- 
ment, and  what  is  due  to  the  relation  between  its  present 
expei'ie7tce  and  its  past  acquisitions. 

§  14.  Meanwhile  it  is  indeed  also  important  to  note, 
in  the  case  of  this  form  of  the  discriminating  sensi- 
tiveness, quite  as  much  as  in  the  signs  of  feeling,  that 
we  are  ujiable  to  conclude  from  the  7nere  presence  of  a 
certain  kind  of  reaction  to  sensory  stimulation  that 
the  creature  in  question  is  certainly  possessed  of  such 
m,enial  life  as  we  ourselves  have  when  similar  dis- 
criminations take  place  in  us.  The  general  rule 
already  mentioned  holds,  that  decidedly  low  organ- 
isms and  that  in  general  the  plants  may  respond  in 
what  seems  to  us  a  decidedly  discriminating  way  to 
disturbances  of  the  environment,  when  nevertheless 
the  psychologist  finds  it  of  no  service  to  his  science 
to  attribute  mental  life  to  the  organisms   in   question. 

In  recent  biological  research  a  tendency  has  conse- 
quently appeared  to  describe  the  apparently  sensitive 
and  discriminating  reactions  of  lower  organisms  in 
terms  of  a  phraseology  that  does  not  presuppose  the 
existence  of  any  mental  life  whatever.  In  such  cases 
one  names  the  stimulus  that  proves  to  be  effective,  such 
as  light,  colour,  the  touch  of  a  solid  object  on  the  surface 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF  MIND        29 

of  the  organism,  or  something  of  the  kind.  One  names 
also  the  kind  of  reaction  which  this  stimulus  provokes 
in  a  given  organism.  Thus,  some  organisms  turn  them- 
selves towards  the  light  when  they  are  exposed  to  the 
light,  or  else  go  through  certain  reactions  that  end  in 
getting  them  away  from  the  light.  Other  organisms 
respond  in  a  highly  sensitive  way  to  the  presence  of 
moving  objects  in  their  environment.  In  the  researches 
here  in  question  the  effort  is  made  to  describe  these 
characteristic  reactions  in  terms  of  certain  purely  physi- 
cal and  chemical  processes  which  occur  in  the  organ- 
isms exposed  to  the  stimulations.  And  the  reactions 
receive  names  accordingly  —  names  intended  merely  to 
describe  the  relation  of  the  organism  to  the  stimulus, 
and  perhaps  to  define  the  hypothetical  nature  of  the 
physical  or  chemical  process  to  which  the  reaction  may 
be  due.  Thus,  in  botany,  the  term  "  hehotropism  "  has 
been  used  to  name  a  well-known,  typical  reaction  of 
certain  plants  when  exposed  to  sunlight.  Professor 
Loeb  in  a  well-known  book  ^  has  used  the  general  term 
f"tropism"  to  name  any  uniform  and  characteristic  re- 
faction of  an  organism  to  its  environment  such  as  is 
the  turning  of  a  plant  to  the  light,  or  the  flying  of  a 
moth  into  the  flame.  Such  a  "  tropism  "  Loeb  explains 
as  due  to  physical  and  chemical  processes.  From  this 
point  of  view,  the  presence  of  what  we  call  discriminat- 

1  Loeb,   Comparative  Physiology  of  the  Brain  and  Comparative  Psy- 
chology.    New  York,  Putnams,  19CX). 


30  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

ing  sensitiveness  in  the  responses  of  an  organism,  is,  by 
itself  alone,  only  a  proof  of  the  presence  of  certain 
physical  processes  occurring  in  the  organism  when  it  is 
disturbed  in  a  particular  way.  From  the  point  of  view 
of  Loeb  it  is  not  even  any  essential  character  of  these 
**  tropisms  "  that  they  involve  a  nervous  system.  Simple 
organisms  that  possess  no  nervous  system  also  show 
these  "  tropisms."  Organisms  normally  possessed  of  a 
nervous  system  may  retain  a  considerable  part  of  their 
discriminating  sensitiveness  even  when,  by  experimen- 
tal interference,  their  nervous  mechanisms  have  been 
put  out  of  function,  so  far  as  the  "  tropisms  "  in  ques- 
tion are  concerned. 

Furthermore,  even  in  ourselves,  in  whom  our  power 
to  discriminate  between  the  various  disturbances  that 
affect  our  organs  of  sense,  is  certainly  bound  up  with 
our  conscious  and  mental  functions,  it  nevertheless 
remains  the  case  that  the  activities  of  our  sense  organs 
are  due  to  physical  and  chemical  processes  of  the  same 
general  kind  as  those  that  occur  in  organisms  so  low  that 
the  followers  of  Loeb  would  regard  them  as  showing  no. 

sufficient  evidence  of  the   presence   of  mind.       It  fol-*' 

.*      .  .  . 

lows  that  disciHminatmg  sensitiveness  to  the  present  dis- 
turbances of  our  sense  orgaiis  is  never  by  itself  alo7ie  a 
sufficient  sign  of  what  the  psychologist  is  obliged  to  ir- 
gard  as  a  mental  process.  ^ Nevertheless^  iji  beings  that 
for  other  reasons  we  regard  as  possessed  of  mind ,  there  is 
no  doubt  that  this  discriminating  sensitiveness  possesses 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS   OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF   MIND        3 1 

a  very  great  iinporta?icc  for  the  interpretation  of  what 
mental  life  is  taking  place.  Here,  as  so  often  elsewhere, 
the  higher  involves  the  lower.  If  we  merely  see  a  crea- 
ture respond  to  the  lesser  differences  in  his  physical 
environment,  we  are  indeed  not  sure  what  sort  of  mind 
this  creature  possesses,  or  whether  he  possesses  any 
mind  at  all,  so  far  as  the  psychologist  can  hope  to  study 
his  life.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  if  a  creature  does  pos- 
sess a  mind,  we  can  never  understand  this  mind  unless 
we  know  what  discriminating  sensitiveness  is  present. 

It  also  remains  true  that  zvhere  we  are  snre  of  the 
p7'esence  of  mijid^  we  observe  a  very  highly  developed  ajid 
varied  se^isitiveness  to  sense  impression  to  be  present^ 
whenever  the  other  signs  of  mind  grow  numerous  and 
important.  Thus,  the  artist  is  distinguished  from  other 
men  not  merely  by  his  acquired  habits,  and  by  his  voli- 
tions, but  by  his  sensitiveness  to  certain  special  disturb- 
ances of  his  sense  organs.  He  responds  to  colours  or  to 
tone,  either  in  a  more  discriminating  way,  or  in  a  more 
emotional  way,  than  other  men  show.  In  general,  the 
genius  of  any  type  is  such  because  of  the  sort  of  sensi- 
tiveness that  he  exhibits  to  certain  kinds  of  present 
experience,  as  well  as  because  of  the  habits  and  the 
voluntary  tendencies  that  he  ultimately  develops  on 
the  basis  of  this  peculiar  sensitiveness.  The  mechanic, 
the  naturalist,  the  business  man,  the  administrator,  the 
philosopher,  no  matter  how  highly  developed  their  other 
functions  may  be,  differ  from  one  another  by  virtue  of 


32  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

the  sorts  of  discrimination  that  they  show  in  deaUng, 
from  moment  to  moment,  with  the  condition  of  their 
environment  as  it  passes  before  them.  Where  one's 
senses  do  not  discriminate,  one's  thought  is  incapable 
of  forming  abstract  ideas  such  as  are  adequate  to  the 
facts.  Persons  who  do  not  possess  certain  senses  may 
develop  a  very  high  degree  of  intelHgence.  But  the 
character  of  this  intelligence  is  profoundly  affected  by 
the  defects  of  sensation  to  which  such  persons  are  sub- 
ject. While  the  relation  between  sense  experience  and 
acquired  habit  will  become  a  little  clearer  farther  on,  it 
is  already  possible  to  say  that,  to  adapt  an  old  phrase, 

C'  ere  is  notJiing  in  the  intellect  which  is  not  affected  by 
hat  occjirs  in  the  region  of  the  senses ;  so  that  as  our 
sensitiveness  to  present  stimulations  varies,  our  whole 
mental  constitution,  even  on  the  highest  level,  is  af- 
fected. Hence,  the  signs  of  discriminating  sensitiveness 
remain  among  the  most  important  of  the  evidences  that 
we  can  use  in  analysing  mental  life,  and  in  discovering 
the  laws  that  determine  its  development. 
>-  §  15.  We  have  now  considered  two  aspects  of  that 
discriminating  sensitiveness  to  present  stimuli  which  the 
beings  that  seem  to  us  to  have  minds  manifest,  viz.,  the 
signs  of  feeling  and  of  sensory  experience.  But  we  said 
above  that  the  relation  of  a  creature's  sensitiveness  to 
its  former  experience  would  also  interest  us.  In  fact,  a 
still  more  remarkable  aspect  of  animal  sensitiveness 
than   the   ones   yet   noticed   appears,  in  simple  forms, 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF  MIND         33 

decidedly  low  down  in  the  scale,  becomes  in  certain  lines 
of  evolution  rapidly  more  and  more  important  higher 
up,  and  reaches  its  highest  expression  in  man.  The' 
animal,  arid  especially  the  vertebrate  animal,  iti  propor- 
tion to  its  elevation  in  the  -rnental  scale,  shows  a  disposi- 
tion to  be  detennined  in  its  present  action  by  what  ha^ 
happened  to  it  in  the  past.  That  is,  it  is  not  merely  sensi- 
tive in  particular  ways  to  particular  changes  ;  but  it  seemt 
to  learn  by  experience.  What  response  the  organism 
makes  at  any  given  time  is  determined  not  merely  by  its 
inherited  structure,  nor  yet  by  present  sensory  disturb- 
ances, but,  in  addition,  by  the  results  of  former  stimuli, 
which  have  affected  it  during  its  intercourse  with  its 
world.  This  capacity  to  be  moulded  by  experience 
greatly  elaborates  the  discriminating  sensitiveness  of  the 
organism  that  is  able  thus  to  appear  to  learn.  Wher- 
ever this  capacity  assumes  its  higher  and  more  complex 
forms,  the  signs  of  such  plasticity,  of  such  power  to  be 
taught  by  the  world  in  which  the  animal  lives,  consti- 
tute, when  taken  together,  the  signs  of  intelligence,  as 
well  as  the  signs  of  habitual  voluntary  conduct. 

It  is  true  that,  in  ourselves,  nervous  functions  which 
^seem  to  have  no  mental  aspect,  are  still  often  moulded 
by  experience.  Not  every  case  then  of  this  sort  of 
plasticity  is  itself  a  sign  of  mental  life.  In  fact,  all  the 
so-called  "acquired  characters"  of  animal  organisms 
plainly  involve,  in  some  measure,  a  capacity  to  be 
moulded  by  physical  experiences.     But,  once  more,  the 


34  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

matter  is  one  of  degree.  The  power  to  show  the  effects 
of  past  experience  is,  in  its  more  elaborate  forms,  the 
most  persuasive  of  all  the  signs  of  the  presence  of 
mind.  Especially  convincing  is  this  sign  when  it  ap- 
pears as  a  power  to  apply  the  results  of  former  ex- 
perience in  the  adjustment  of  an  animal's  actions  to 
decidedly  novel  conditions.  When  wild  animals,  after 
having  experienced  something  of  the  nature  of  traps, 
become  especially  skilful  in  detecting  and  avoiding  new 
sorts  of  traps,  we  do  not  easily  doubt  that  this  is  a  sign 
of  some  sort  of  intelligence.  When  (  as  is  narrated  in 
an  account  quoted  by  Romanes)  an  elephant,  taught  to 
pick  up  articles  and  pass  them  to  the  man  who  is  on 
his  back,  detects  at  once  the  character  of  some  novel 
article  {e.g.  a  sharp  knife),  and  guided  by  some  subtler 
indication,  handles  this  novel  article  carefully,  or  with 
a  careless  haste,  we  are  sure  that  this  acquired  skill 
indicates  the  presence  of  mental  life  of  some  highly 
developed  kind. 

§  1 6.  Decidedly  different  is  the  case  where  the  ac- 
tions of  an  animal  show  great  apparent  present  skill  in 
their  successful  adjustment  to  surrounding  conditions, 
while,  nevertheless,  the  adjustment  in  question  seems  to 
be  largely  an  inherited  function  of  the  animal,  which  is 
only  in  part,  perhaps  in  very  small  part,  moulded  by  the 
animal's  own  past  experience.  In  this  case  we  call  the 
actions  that  we  observe  cases  of  relatively  unmodified 
instinct.     The   signs  of   unmodified  instinct  cannot  of 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS   OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF   MIND        35 

themselves  be  regarded  as  signs  of  what,  from  the  psy- 
chologist's point  of  view,  is  identical  with  intelligence  or 
with  conscious  volition.  The  most  marvellous  develop- 
ments of  unmodified  instinctive  functions  occur  in  in- 
vertebrate animals,  especially  among  the  insects  ( e.g. 
ants,  bees,  and  wasps).  While  these  instincts  get  in 
some  respect  readjusted  to  passing  experience,  they  are 
sometimes  remarkably  perfect  apart  from  the  influences 
of  any  past  experience.  The  instincts  of  the  higher 
vertebrates  are  generally  a  good  deal  moulded  by  the 
experiences  of  the  individual  animal,  so  that  although 
an  important  aspect  or  portion  of  the  functions  may  be 
directly  inherited,  the  mind  of  such  an  animal  is  never- 
theless subject  in  its  growth  to  the  laws  of  the  intelli- 
gence and  is  here  seldom  free  from  great  modifications 
during  the  life  of  its  possessor.  In  man  the  inherited 
instincts,  although  they  lie  at  the  basis  of  all  our  intel- 
lectual life,  get  so  much  modified  and  moulded  by  our 
experience  that  we  generally  fail  to  recognise  their  pres- 
ence as  instincts.  Yet,  as  James  and  others  have 
shown,  man  has,  at  the  outset,  an  extremely  large  num- 
ber of  elaborate  and  inherited  instinctive  predispositions 
to  given  sorts  of  conduct. 

In  so  far,  however,  as  we  leave  out  of  account  the  rel- 
atively unalterable  inherited  instincts,  we  can  then  say 
that  by  the  signs  of  intelligence  and  of  the  presence  of 
voluntary  although  habitual  conduct,  we  mean  those 
signs  which  show  an  aniniaVs  plasticity  in  the  presence  of 


36  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

experience^  and  especially  its  skill  in  adjusting  the  7'esults 
of  past  experience  to  the  meeting  of  novel  situations. 

§  17.  It  will  be  observed  that,  in  case  of  the  class  of 
signs  of  the  presence  of  mind  here  in  question,  all  such 
signs  are  intimately  bound  up  with  those  described 
under  the  previous  head,  and  cannot  exist  apart  from 
them.  The  animal  which  at  present  shows  that  its  con- 
duct is  affected  by  the  results  of  former  experience, 
generally  displays  this  influence  by  being  sensitive  to 
aspects  of  its  environment  to  which  it  would  otherwise 
not  adjust  itself.  Furthermore,  as  we  shall  see  when 
we  come  further  to  examine  the  mental  processes  which 
accompany  intelligent  behaviour,  many  of  these  pro- 
cesses involve  certain  mental  states  called  images,  or 
ideas,  or  called  by  similar  names.  Such  states  we  shall 
find  to  be  similar  to  these  which  present  external  dis- 
turbance of  sense  organs  would  arouse.  And,  as  we 
shall  also  find,  the  existence  of  these  various  states  and 
processes  proves  to  be  explicable  only  in  case  we  lay 
stress  upon  the  relation  between  the  animal's  present 
external  sense  disturbances  and  its  former  experiences. 
In  other  words,  even  its  present  sensitiveness  involves 
mental  features  which,  whenever  it  is  really  intelligent, 
are  different  from  what  they  would  have  been  in  case 
certain  other  experiences  had  not  preceded  them.  We 
are  consequently  unable  to  deal  with  the  mental  pro- 
cesses involved  in  genuinely  intelligent  actions,  with- 
out taking  account  of  something  more  than  the  present 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS   OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF   MIND         37 

discriminating  sensitiveness  of  the  animal's  organism. 
Yet  this  something  affects  the  present  state  of  its  con- 
sciousness. Hence  the  study  of  phenomena  of  the 
present  class  is  very  naturally  distinguished  from  the 
study  of  the  phenomena,  physical  or  mental,  which 
have  to  do  with  the  present  disturbance  of  the  animal's 
organs  of  sense,  and  is  nevertheless  very  closely  bound 
up  with  the  latter  study. 

§  18.  There  seems  to  be  need  of  a  name  whereby  we 
may  distinguish  and  characterise  the  group  of  signs  of 
mind  here  in  question.  We  have  already  used  the 
name  "  plasticity."  But  this  name  naturally  suggests 
present  modifications  of  an  animal's  behaviour,  as  well  as 
the  relation  of  its  present  behaviour  to  its  former  life. 
The  name  "intelligence,"  which  we  have  also  used,  im- 
plies distinguishing  certain  mental  processes  as  having 
to  do  with  the  knowledge  about  its  world  which  the 
intelligent  animal  shows.  While  this  name  is  indeed 
applicable  in  case  of  all  the  functions  here  in  question, 
it  does  not,  so  expressly  as  we  could  wish,  lay  stress 
upon  the  fact  that  the  intelligent  activities  are  always 
due,  in  creatures  such  as  ourselves,  to  the  influence  of 
former  experiences  upon  present  habits  and  upon 
present  consciousness.  Moreover,  all  these  intelligent 
activities  are  also  more  or  less  expressions  of  will. 
They  constitute  conduct  as  well  as  show  intellect. 
Furthermore,  we  need  at  this  stage  of  our  inquiry  a 
name  that  lays  stress  quite  as  much  upon  the  externally 


38  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

observable  character  of  certain  signs  of  mind  as  upon 
the  inner  character  of  the  accompanying  mental  pro- 
cesses themselves.  I  suggest  therefore  as  a  good  name 
for  the  present  type  of  signs  of  mental  Ufe  the  term 
DOCILITY.      By  the  docility  of  an  animal  we  mean  the 

\capacity  shown  in  its  acts  to  adjust  these  acts  not  merely 
to  a  prese?it  situatio?i,  but  to  the  relation  between  this 

\present  situation  and  what  has  occurred  in  the  former  life 
of  this  organism.  The  same  term  "docility"  we  shall 
also  come  to  apply  later  to  the  mental  processes  which 
accompany  these  external  manifestations  of  the  ten- 
dency to  profit  by  former  experience.  The  term 
*'  docility  "  is  chosen  therefore  as  a  convenient  name  both 
for  the  physical  manifestations  of  the  animal's  power 
to  profit  by  experience,  and  for  the  mental  processes 
that  accompany  this  same  power. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  we  do  not  here  distinguish 
signs  of  the  possession  of  intellect  from  signs  of  the 
possession  of  a  will.  As  we  shall  hereafter  see,  the 
so-called  will  and  intellect  of  ordinary  psychological 
study  are  but  two  aspects  of  a  single  process. 

§  19.  We  now  come  to  still  another  group  of  the 
signs  of  mental  life.  The  adjustment  of  an  organism 
to  its  environment  involves  everywhere  not  merely  the 
reception  of  impressions  from  without,  but  the  occurrence 
of  responses  which  are  in  some  sense  initiated  within  the 
organism.  All  the  signs  of  mind  without  exception 
include  the  reaction  of  the  creature  that  possesses  the 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF   MIND        39 

mind  to  the  world  in  which  it  lives.  Yet  in  some  cases 
our  attention,  as  we  study  an  organism,  is  more  attracted 
by  what  happens  to  the  organism,  that  is,  by  what  comes 
to  it  from  without ;  in  other  instances  our  attention  is 
more  attracted  by  the  novel  character  of  the  response  itself  \ 
ivhich  the  creaticre  makes  to  the  conditions  iii  which  weJ 
find  it.  In  the  one  case  we  are  disposed  to  say  that  the 
animal  which  we  are  observing  merely  shows  signs  of 
being  disturbed.  In  the  other  case,  we  are  likely  to  say 
that  this  animal  shows  ^^spontaneity''  of  7novement. 
Now  when  we  speak  of  **  spontaneity,'"  we  speak  of 
what  common  sense  regards  as  one  of  the  most  charac- 
teristic signs  of  the  presence  of  mind.  Yet  before  we 
can  estimate  the  value  of  this  sign,  we  have  to  consider 
somewhat  carefully  in  what  sense  spontaneity  is  ever 
observable  in  the  actions  of  a  living  creature,  and  in 
what  sense  this  spontaneity,  when  it  appears  to  exist, 
can  be  of  any  use  to  us  as  a  mark  of  mental  life. 

§  20,  The  discriminating  sensitiveness  with  which  we 
began  the  series  of  the  signs  of  mental  Hfe  generally 
does  not  seem  to  us  to  be  something  very  noticeably 
spontaneous  on  the  part  of  the  animal  that  shows  it. 
When  a  creature  is  disturbed  by  an  external  cause,  and 
shows  signs  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  we  have  indeed  its 
own  reaction  to  its  world  —  a  reaction  which  may  be 
very  characteristic  of  its  own  special  type  of  Hfe.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  particular  reaction  seems  to  us 
to  be  rather  directly  due  to  the  disturbance  than  to  be 


40  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

something  initiated  from  within  the  animal  organism. 
Yet  in  some  sense  such  relative  initiation  from  within 
always  takes  place.  For  what  the  disturbed  creature 
does,  depends  on  what  nervous  centres  it  has.  On  the 
other  hand,  when,  in  the  absence  of  any  disturbance 
that,  at  the  moment,  seems  to  us  notable,  a  living 
creature  moves  about  (as  so  often  happens  in  very  vari- 
ous grades  of  animal  life),  we  then  speak  of  "  spontane- 
ous movements,"  and  easily  think  of  them  as  initiated 
directly  from  within  the  organism.  If  an  animal  is 
obviously  disturbed  by  light  or  by  sound,  and  shows 
merely  the  usual  signs  of  seeing  or  of  hearing,  we  are 
likely  to  regard  this  mainly  as  a  direct  response  to  an 
outer  impression.  But  when  a  dog,  in  the  absence  of 
his  master,  begins  to  show  signs  of  restlessness,  and, 
running  to  the  window,  looks  out  in  a  way  that  we 
regard  as  indicating  a  desire  to  look  for  his  master's 
return,  this  we  are  disposed  to  consider  a  relatively 
"  spontaneous  activity."  Or  when  a  man,  made  angry 
by  a  blow,  returns  the  blow  instantly,  we  may  regard 
this  merely  as  an  instinctive  response  to  a  present  dis- 
turbance. But  when  another  man,  after  brooding  over 
an  injury,  writes  a  challenge  to  a  duel,  or  when  he  plans 
the  murder  of  his  enemy,  common  sense  regards  this  as 
a  relatively  "  spontaneous  activity,"  and  may  attribute  it 
to  what  is  called  the  "  free  will "  of  the  individual  in 
question. 

But  our  estimate  of   this   contrast   between   the   so- 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF  MIND        41 

called  "direct  response"  of  a  living  being  to  its 
environment,  and  the  apparently  **  spontaneous  activ- 
ity "  of  the  same  or  of  some  other  living  creature, 
appears  in  a  somewhat  different  light  if  we  consider, 
not  merely  what  we  have  called  the  present  discrimi- 
nating sensitiveness  of  the  creature  in  question,  but 
that  docility  of  a  higher  organism  upon  which  we 
have  now  insisted.  We  know  that  what  an  animal 
at  present  does  may  be  a  result,  not  merely  of  the 
momentary  stimulation,  but  also  of  great  numbers  of 
past  habits.  These  habits  may  affect  present  con- 
duct in  such  wise  that  what  is  now  done  is  rather  a 
repetition  of  some  former  act  than  a  fitting  response 
to  a  present  situation.  Thus,  when  a  tune  *'  runs  in 
one's  head,"  the  singing  of  the  tune  may  seem  to  an 
external  observer  a  very  "  spontaneous "  kind  of 
action.  Closer  examination  may,  however,  show  how 
the  singing  of  the  tune  is  due  to  the  past  habit  of 
singing  it,  and  to  the  fact  that  this  habit  has  been 
reawakened  in  some  way  through  its  accidental  con- 
nection with  a  passing  present  experience.  It  results 
that,  when  we  take  into  account  tJie  combi7ted  effect  of 
se?isitiveness  and  docility,  we  have  very  much  to  limit 
the  extent  to  zvhich  we  can  judge  the  activities  of  afiy 
animal  to  be  even  relatively  spontaneotis.  And  from 
this  point  of  view  the  so-called  spontaneous  move- 
ment of  the  undisturbed  animal  may  turn  out  to  be 
habitual  adjustments  to  stimuli  —  and    to  stimuli   that 


42  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

we  have  failed  to  notice  in  our  observations  of  the 
creature  in  question.  Thus,  when  we  take  into  con- 
sideration both  the  present  impressions  and  the  habits 
of  the  being  in  question,  the  whole  appearance  of 
"  spontaneity "  may  seem  to  vanish ;  and  we  may 
come  to  regard  the  reaction  as  a  purely  "  mechanical 
adjustment,"  determined  by  current  events  and  pre- 
vious habits.  From  this  point  of  view,  even  the 
plans  of  the  revengeful  man,  slowly  maturing,  and 
resulting  in  his  challenge  or  in  his  crime,  may  now 
seem  to  us  to  involve  no  new  evidences  of  mind 
besides  those  which  we  may  characterise  in  terms  of 
sensitiveness  and  docility.  For  his  enemy  has  aroused 
him,  and  he  is  by  habit  a  fighting  man. 

§  21.  Nevertheless,  when  we  follow  the  activities 
of  beings  high  up  in  the  scale  of  mental  life,  and 
even  when  we  follow  some  of  the  processes  which 
occur  lower  down  in  the  animal  kingdom,  where  the 
evidences  of  mental  life  seem  doubtful,  we  do  meet 
many  signs  which  we  fail  thus  easily  to  describe  in 
terms  either  of  the  present  discriminating  sensitive- 
ness, or  of  the  gradually  acquired  habits  of  the 
organism,  or  of  both  combined,  so  far  as  we  can  at 
the  outset  judge  of  them.  In  case  of  our  own  minds, 
we  also  observe  a  good  many  processes  which  we 
cannot  readily  reduce  to  the  discoverable  laws  of  our 
docility,  and  which  we  are  equally  unable  to  explain 
by   a    reference    to    the    present    disturbance    of    our 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS   OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF   MIND        43 

sense  organs.  That  all  such  phenomena  must  con- 
form to  some  sort  of  law,  every  psychological  investi- 
gation naturally  presupposes.  For  a  scientific  inquiry 
is  concerned  with  what  one  hopes  to  reduce  to  rule. 
On  the  other  hand,  the  explanation  of  such  phenom- 
ena may  actually  have  to  be  sought  in  other  direc- 
tions than  those  which  we  follow  when  we  consider 
merely  our  sensitiveness  and  our  docility. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  determine  as  yet  whether 
such  special  explanations  of  the  processes  in  question 
will  finally  prove  to  be  necessary.  We  are  considering, 
thus  far,  merely  the  signs  of  mind.  What  interests  us  is 
that  there  are  phenomena  which,  prima  facie ^  suggest 
that  something  at  least  relatively  spontaneous  is  occur- 
ring —  something  due  to  what  goes  on  within  an  organ- 
ism, and  something  not  easily  describable  eitJier  in 
terms  of  the  present  disturbances  of  sense  organs  or 
in  terms  of  the  already  acquired  habits  of  the  organ- 
ism. Phenomena  of  this  kind  appear  most  prominently 
in  such  cases  as  the  following.  First,  an  animal  may 
be  in  a  situation  where  it  will  have  to  learn  a  new 
art  of  some  kind,  in  case  it  is  to  become  suitably  adapted 
to  its  environment.  For  example,  an  imprisoned  ani- 
mal may  have  to  learn  how  to  get  out  of  the  cage, 
in  case  it  is  to  reach  food  or  comfort.  Its  present 
sense  impressions  do  not  lead  to  successful  responses. 
Its  already  acquired  habits  may  prove,  at  first,  in- 
adequate to  guide  it  to  successful  escape.     It  is,  namely, 


44  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

not  intelligent  enough  to  adjust  these  habits  to  the 
novel  situation  through  any  sort  of  direct  examination 
of  the  facts  before  it.  The  animal  may  struggle  for 
a  good  while,  and  then  finally  escape.  In  thus  escap- 
ing it  may  establish  7tew  habits,  which  will  lead  it  to 
escape  more  readily  if  imprisoned  again.  In  this 
case,  it  indeed  does  not  occur  to  us  that  the  process 
is  one  involving  anything  incapable  of  reduction  to 
law.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  we  may  have  to  take 
account  of  other  factors  besides  the  simple  docility 
of  the  creature,  and  of  something  over  and  above  its 
inherited  instincts,  before  we  can  fully  understand  the 
process  whereby  this  art  was  learned.  The  descrip- 
tion of  what  happens,  in  so  far  as  we  can  get  such 
description,  does  indeed  turn  out  to  be,  in  the  sup- 
posed case,  comparatively  simple.  A  process  of  "  trial 
and  error"  seems  to  take  place,  and  this  process 
results,  after  numerous  failures,  in  a  chance  success. 
Yet  this  very  process  certainly  involves  features  that 
are  somewhat  different  from  those  by  which  an 
animal  which  has  been  repeatedly  fed  learns  the 
place  where  its  food  is  customarily  given  to  it.  And 
it  may  therefore  prove  to  be  worth  while  to  give  a 
special  name  to  the  kind  of  process  which  this  series 
of  trials  and  errors  involves. 

Or,  in  the  second  place,  on  a  very  much  higher  level 
of  mental  life,  an  inventor,  or  a  scientific  investigator, 
may  long  stand  baffled  in  presence  of  a  problem  be- 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF   MIND        45 

longing  to  his  art  or  science.  He  may  finally  solve  the 
problem.  In  doing  so,  he  may  at  the  same  time  invent 
a  new  method  of  procedure  which  henceforth  becomes 
applicable,  by  himself  or  by  other  men,  to  similar  prob- 
lems. The  process  of  discovering  this  original  solution 
of  the  problem  may  well  involve  elements  that  need  a 
name  of  their  own.  Neither  one  who  observes  from 
without  the  activities  of  such  a  person,  nor  one  who 
examines  from  within  their  psychological  characteris- 
tics, may  be  able  to  describe  what  happens  wholly  in 
terms  of  the  discriminating  sensitiveness  to  experience 
which  the  organism  manifests,  or  which  the  mind  pos- 
sesses at  any  one  moment.  Nor  may  such  an  observer 
be  able  to  reduce  the  process  to  the  laws  governing  the 
ordinary  docility  of  this  organism  or  of  this  mind.  In 
such  a  case  the  signs  of  mind  visible  to  an  outward 
observer  seem  to  need  a  name  of  their  own.  The 
mental  processes  involved  seem  to  stand  somewhat  by 
themselves,  and  to  suggest,  if  they  do  not  necessitate, 
peculiar  modes  of  describing  their  laws. 

Or,  finally,  a  man  in  a  perplexing  situation,  a  states- 
man in  the  presence  of  some  new  political  problem,  a 
reformer  at  some  crisis  in  social  affairs,  may,  after  long 
deliberation,  resolve  upon  some  highly  original  mode 
of  conduct.  In  such  cases  the  result  may  be  momen- 
tous for  the  whole  subsequent  history  of  one  or  of  many 
nations.  We  may  or  we  may  not  be  wrong  to  refer  the 
decision  in  such  a  case  to  what  common  sense  calls  the 


46  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

"  free  will  "  of  the  man  in  question.  It  may  or  it  may 
not  turn  out  that  the  act  of  choice  was  as  necessary 
as  is  sneezing  or  digestion.  But  whatever  the  result 
of  inquiry  may  be,  the  act  as  it  stands  possesses  for 
any  observer  characteristics  which  seem  to  indicate  a 
peculiar  kind  of  mental  life.  This  type  of  mental  life 
may  need  a  name  for  which  our  former  terms,  "  sensi- 
tiveness "  and  "  docility,"  appear  distinctly  inadequate. 
§  22.  In  all  these  classes  of  cases  it  will  be  observed 
that  we  need  not  suppose  anything  of  an  entirely  novel 
character  to  have  occurred,  and  that  in  fact  we  need  not 
make  any  presuppositions  as  to  whether  any  essentially 
novel  factors  are  involved  at  all.  But  it  is  also  certain 
that  such  learning  of  new  arts,  such  inventions,  such 
apparently  original  decisions,  are  phenomena  that  have 
a  very  considerable  importance  as  symptoms  of  mind, 
and  that  tend  to  suggest  to  us  a  type  of  mental  life 
somewhat  distinct  from  any  other.  As  to  the  fitting 
name  to  give  to  responses  of  this  kind,  we  have  already 
pointed  out  that  they  very  readily  suggest  the  word 
"spontaneity."  The  imprisoned  animal,  apart  from  its 
previous  training,  appears  ^^  spontaiieoicsly''  to  learn 
how  to  escape.  The  inventor  ^^  spojitaiieously^''  solves 
the  problem.  The  man  at  the  practical  crisis  shows 
what  we  call  his  power  of  ^^spontaneous''  choice.  Yet 
the  word  "spontaneous,"  although  in  common  usage,  has 
unhappy  suggestions  attending  it.  It  seems  to  imply 
J  that  something  occurs  apart  from  any  conditions  what- 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF    MIND        47 

ever.  And  as  we  have  seen,  psychology  has  no  inter- 
est in  recognising  uncaused  events.  And  very  obviously 
we  can  neyer  observe  that  a  given  event  has  no  causes, 
while  here  we  are  merely  endeavouring  to  find  a  name 
whereby  to  characterise  a  type  of  observed  events. 
For  the  same  reason,  the  term  "  creativeness "  has 
false  suggestions.  The  most  of  the  phenomena  that 
are  here  in  question  have  very  prominently  some  of 
the  characters  which  common  sense  has  in  mind  when 
we  speak  of  "acts  of  will"  or  of  "voluntary"  pro- 
cesses. Yet,  as  we  shall  later  see,  the  term  "  will  "  is  so 
variously  used  by  common  sense  as  to  make  it  conven- 
ient for  our  present  purpose  to  avoid  determining  our 
classification  of  the  signs  of  mind  by  means  of  a  use 
of  that  word.  Much  that  is  relatively  habitual  is  also 
voluntary.  All  voluntary  conduct  depends  in  part  on 
docility.  And  so  far  as  we  are  at  present  concerned, 
these  relatively  novel  acts,  these  signs  of  apparent 
spontaneity,  which  we  are  defining,  may  prove  to  be 
either  what  common  sense  calls  voluntary,  or  what  are 
to  be  regarded  as  involuntary.  Their  novelty,  and  the 
fact  that  they  cannot  be  reduced  by  any  direct  observa- 
tion to  the  signs  of  the  two  former  types,  that  is,  to 
the  signs  of  the  sensitiveness  or  to  the  signs  of  docility 
—  this  is  here  what  we  are  concerned  to  emphasise. 

We  are  aided  in  finding  a  name  for  such  processes 
by  remembering  that,  in  the  modern  theory  of  evolu- 
tion, a  difference  has  long  been  recognised  in  the  char- 


48  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

acteristics  possessed  by  living  organisms,  between  what 
is  due  to  heredity  and  what  is  due  to  variation.  The 
characters  of  any  organism  are,  namely,  either  7'epeti- 
tions  of  ancestral  characters,  or  else  characters  that 
appear  in  the  individual  organism^  without  having 
been  due  to  such  repetition,  unchanged,  of  ancestral 
traits.  And  of  the  variatio7is,  that  is,  of  the  new  indi- 
vidual characters  that  appear  in  an  organism,  some 
may  be  acquired  diiri^ig  the  life  of  the  ijidividual  in 
question.  Such  variations,  in  fact,  are  all  those  due  to 
injuries  and  mutilations,  and  all  those  due  to  the  for- 
tunes and  experiences  of  the  individual  organism.  But, 
on  the  other  hand,  some  of  the  individual  variations 
may  be  due  to  congenital  causes ;  so  that,  in  addition  to 
what  it  inherits  from  its  ancestors,  the  organism  has 
from  the  very  beginning  relatively  hidependent  vari- 
ations, which  are  characteristic  of  itself,  and  which 
are  not  repetitions  of  anything  which  its  ancestors 
possessed. 

Now  in  that  portion  of  the  life  of  an  organism  which 
interests  the  psychologist,  the  successive  activities  that 
appear  fall  into  classes  which  somewhat  roughly  cor- 
respond to  the  classes  of  phenomena  in  which  the  theory 
of  evolution  is  interested  when  it  considers  the  relation 
of  the  life-history  of  each  organism  to  the  race  from 
which  the  organism  sprung.  To  the  process  of  hered- 
ity in  the  race  corresponds,  in  the  individual,  what 
we  have  called  its  docility ;  for  by  heredity  an  organ- 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF   AHND        49 

ism  of  one  generation  repeats  the  characters  of  its 
ancestors,  while  the  docility  of  an  individual  involves 
the  tendency  of  its  present  acts  to  repeat  its  past 
conduct.  On  the  other  hand,  to  what  the  evolutionists 
call  the  variations  of  the  individual  organism  when 
compared  to  its  race,  there  correspond,  in  the  life- 
history  of  each  individual,  the  relatively  novel  acts 
and  experiences  of  this  individual  —  the  acts  and  ex- 
periences, namely,  which  are  not  repetitions  of  its 
own  former  acts  and  experiences.  Now  some  of  these 
novelties  in  the  life  of  an  individual  seem  to  us  to  be 
more  directly  due,  as  we  have  seen,  to  external  disturb- 
ances. But,  in  case  of  the  facts  that  we  are  now  con- 
sidering, we  come  to  variations  in  the  conduct  of  an 
individual  which  seem  to  us  to  be  due,  in  part,  neither 
to  external  disturbances  nor  to  the  effects  of  former 
habits.  These  new  acts  play  the  same  part  in  the 
life  of  an  individual  that  what  the  Darwinian  theory 
calls  spontaneous  variations  play  in  the  life  of  a  race. 
Just  as  congenital  variations  are  due,  not  to  the  ex- 
ternal disturbances  that  come  to  an  organism,  but  to 
the  processes  that  brought  it  into  existence,  so  here, 
in  the  present  class  of  the  signs  of  mind,  we  have  to 
do  with  variations  or  novelties  of  conduct  that  can- 
not easily  be  referred  either  to  the  former  habits  or 
to  the  present  sense  experiences  of  the  organism  in 
question. 

In   consequence   the  characteristic   of    the  signs   of 


50  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

mental  life  which  we  have  here  in  question  might  well 
be  summed  up  by  speaking  of  the  variation  of  conduct 
in  general,  or  by  using  the  term  "variability,"  or  the 
other  term  "  spontaneous  variability,"  to  characterise 
the  process  in  question.  Yet  in  order  to  avoid  the 
various  confusions  to  which  the  term  "  spontaneous 
variation  "  has  given  rise  in  evolutionary  theory,  and  in 
order  to  avoid  also  the  indefiniteness  that  attaches  to 
the  otherwise  used  and  extremely  general  terms  "  varia- 
tion "  and  "variability,"  it  seems  better  to  find  still  a 
new,  although  a  closely  related  term,  for  the  particular 
kind  of  variability  here  in  question. 

I  propose  then  to  call  the  signs  of  mind  which  are 
here  in  question,  signs  of  Initiative,  or  more  particu- 
larly of  Mental  Initiative.  The  word  "initiative" 
suggests  that  where  initiative  is  present  there  is  at  least 
considerable  apparent  novelty  of  behaviour  on  the  part 
of  the  creature  that  exhibits  initiative.  The  word  is 
not  meant  to  convey  the  conception  that  the  initiative 
in  question  involves  independence  of  definite  causal 
connection.  We  have  no  difficulty  in  speaking  of  a 
new  organism  as  "initiated"  by  the  process  of  genera 
tion.  Yet  it  does  not  occur  to  us  to  suppose  that  the 
new  organism  is  disconnected  from  its  ancestors,  or 
that  its  ancestors  are  not  the  cause  of  its  initiation.  Tc 
speak  of  the  beginning  or  of  the  initiation  of  anything, 
is  simply  to  call  attention  to  an  observable  fact,  and 
is  not  to  make  any  presupposition  as  to  the  presence 


PHYSICAL   SIGNS   OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF   MIND         51 

or  absence  of  lawful  connection  between  this  fact  and 
previous  phenomena.  In  speaking  therefore  of  men- 
tal initiative,  I  merely  call  attention  to  tJic  fact  that 
there  are  certain  of  the  signs  of  mifid  which  are  pre- 
se7tted  to  us  by  the  appearance  of  relatively  fzovel  acts  in 
the  life  of  an  intelligent  creature^  ifi  cases  where  these 
novel  acts  cajinot  be  directly  referred  to  the  presoit 
external  disturbances  to  wJiich  tJie  organism  is  subject. 
The  acquisition  of  new  ways  of  behaviour,  which  are 
not  merely  impressed  upon  the  organism  from  without, 
the  appearance  of  inventive  activities,  the  novel  deeds 
of  genius,  the  momentous  choices,  upon  which  so  much 
in  the  life  of  individuals  and  of  nations  may  depend 
—  these  are  all  instances  of  the  signs  of  mental 
initiative. 

§  23.  It  remains,  even  in  this  introductory  sketch, 
to  compare  the  signs  of  initiative  with  the  signs  of 
docility,  as  evidences  of  the  existence  of  mental  pro- 
cesses, and  to  indicate  the  significance  of  the  signs  of 
initiative.  It  must  be  distinctly  admitted  tJiat  it  is\ 
only  where  the  signs  of  mental  initiative  appear  in  close/ 
conrtection  with  the  sig7is  of  docility  that  they  are  of 
importance  for  the  psychologist,  or  furnish  any  notable 
evidence  of  the  presence  of  significant  mental  life. 
The  mere  fact  that  an  organism  does  something  which 
it  has  never  done  before,  and  which  is  not  wholly  de- 
scribable  in  terms  of  its  present  sensitiveness  to  ex- 
ternal disturbances,  is  in  itself,  apart  from  its  relation 


52  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

to  intelligent  activities,  no  sign  that  a  valuable  mental 
function  is  going  on.     Thus,  the  first  epileptic  fit  which 
should  appear  in  the  life  of  one  who  was  to  be  hence- 
forth an  epileptic  sufferer,  would  not  be  by  itself  any 
sign  of  a  psychologically  important  process,    although 
there  might   be  some  reason  to  speak  of  it  as  an  ap- 
parently **  spontaneous"  physiological  occurrence.    For 
the  epileptic  fit  is  not,  like  the  new  invention,  a  varia- 
tion  of  the  already  significant  intelligent   habits  of  the 
organism.     In  any  case,  the  act  which  manifests  men- 
tal initiative  must  have  the  character  of  a  real  adjust- 
ment to   the  environment,  and   must   not   be,  like  the 
epileptic    fit,    a   failure   of   adjustment.      Furthermore, 
even  a  new  adjustment  to  the  environment,  in  so   far 
as   it   possesses   simply  the   character  of   a  coming  ta 
light  of  an  inherited  instinct,  which  has  not  previously 
entered  into  or  been  affected  by  the  habits  of  the  or-* 
ganism,  is  a  change  possessing  no  such  psychological^ 
significance   as   an   invention    or   a   novel   choice  may* 
possess.     In   the   lives   of   human   beings   the   sudden* 
appearance  of  instinctive  functions  not  previously  con-» 
nected  with  the  acquired  habits  of  the  organism  occurs,* 
except   at   some    points   in   the   early   development   of 
childhood,   only  in   decidedly    modified   form.     But   in 
such  changes  of  behaviour  as  occur  when  a  child  first 
walks,  or  when  it  rapidly  passes  to  a  new  stage  in  the 
acquisition   of    language,  or  even  when  later  in  youth 
new  relations  to  the  opposite  sex  are  determined  by 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS   OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF   MIND        53 

instincts  which  previous  experience  has  not  at  all  ade- 
quately wrought  upon  —  in  all  such  cases  the  vari- 
ability of  mental  processes  involved  has  a  decidedly 
different  significance  from  that  possessed  by  the  forms 
of  mental  initiative  just  exemplified.  The  sort  of  men- 
tal initiative  which  is  especially  in  question  in  the  present 
discussion  is  that  which  appears  when  already  acquired 
and  intelligent  habits  are  decidedly  altered^  or  are  dei 
cidedly  recombined,  in  such  fashioji  as  to  bring  to  pass 
a  novel  readjustment  to  our  environmeitt. 

§  24.  Yet  if  inventions  and  critical  choices  are 
classic  instances  of  mental  initiative,  our  instance  of 
the  struggling  animal,'  striving  to  escape  from  its 
cage,  has  already  shown  us  that  the  elementary  forms 
of  mental  initiative  appear  decidedly  low  down  in  the 
scale  of  animal  activities.  We  shall  find  hereafter  that 
the  processes  in  question  are  very  widely  prevalent, 
in  all  the  manifestations  of  mind.  A  general  under- 
standing of  how  such  processes  are  to  be  explained, 
despite  the  fact  that  they  are  not  mere  instances  of 
docility,  and  that  they  are  not  directly  due  to  present 
sense  impressions,  will  throw  no  small  light  upon  what 
are  usually  regarded  as  amongst  the  obscurest  ques- 
tions of  psychological  theory.  Every  teacher,  in  these 
days,  hears  a  great  deal  of  **  self-activity,"  and  of 
the  supposed  principle  that  every  human  mind  in  a 
very  large  measure  determines  its  own  choices,  its 
own  behefs,  and  its  own  destiny.     On  the  other  hand. 


54  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

every  student  of  mental  phenomena  becomes  early 
acquainted  with  the  view  that  all  of  our  mental  life 
is  due  to  environment  and  to  training.  Our  environ- 
ment impresses  us,  because  we  are  discriminatingly 
sensitive.  Our  training  becomes  significant  to  us 
because  of  our  docility.  To  say  that  environment 
and  training  suffice  to  determine  our  mental  life  in- 
fevitably  involves  denying  the  presence  in  us  of  that 
"spontaneity"  upon  which  the  partisans  of  mental 
activity  love  to  lay  stress.  But  there  are  also  many 
students  of  mental  life  who  add  to  the  factors  called 
environment  and  training  the  now  so  well-known 
hereditary  factor,  which  is  expressed  in  the  original 
constitution  and  in  the  permanent  tendencies  of  our 
organism.  But  heredity  appears,  from  the  cus- 
tomary point  of  view,  to  be  as  decidedly  opposed  as 
are  training  and  environment  to  the  existing  of  spon- 
taneity. And  those  who  regard  heredity,  environ- 
ment, and  training  as  the  sole  factors  determining 
our  mental  life,  are  usually  regarded  as  necessarily 
opponents  of  those  who  look  to  '*  self -activity  "  as  a 
significant  factor  in  our  growth.  Plainly  a  decision 
as  to  the  relation  of  all  these  factors,  and  as  to  the 
possible  existence  of  anything  worthy  to  be  called 
"  self -activity,"  depends  upon  a  study  of  that  side  of 
mental  life  which  the  signs  here  in  question  bring  to 
our  notice.  What  we  so  far  see  is,  that  while  some 
of   the   apparently   spontaneous    activities    of    animals 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE   OF  MIND        55 

and  of  men  can  indeed  be  explained  by  a  more  care- 
ful study  of  their  present  sensory  disturbances,  or 
of  their  past  habits,  some  of  these  seemingly  sponta- 
neous doings  involve  processes  that  seem  more  stub- 
bornly to  resist  a  reduction  to  the  two  other  types. 
It  seems  worth  while  to  give  these  classes  of  phe- 
nomena, at  least  provisionally,  their  separate  name. 
Plainly  they  include  much  of  what  is  often  referred 
to  "  free  will."  Plainly  they  also  include  a  great 
many  phenomena  of  mental  variability  which  seem 
to  be  of  a  much  less  startling  and  momentous  char- 
acter. But  in  so  far  as  inventiveness  also  is  included 
among  the  manifestations  of  the  type  here  in  ques- 
tion, these  phenomena  appear  to  include  much  of 
what  is  usually  described  as  ingenuity,  and  so  in- 
volve what  is  usually  regarded  as  the  intellect  as  well 
as  what  is  commonly  conceived  to  be  the  will. 

Here,  therefore,  as  in  the  case  of  docility,  the 
phenomena  of  mind  which  are  under  consideration 
include  both  those  usually  classed  under  the  intellect, 
and  those  usually  considered  under  the  head  of  the 
will.  P'or  we  show  initiative  both  as  to  our  know- 
ledge and  as  to  our  conduct. 

§  25.  Under  four  headings  we  have  now  discussed 
what  amount  in  sum  to  three  provisionally  distinct 
types  of  the  signs  of  mind.  The  first  type  possesses 
two  sub-types,  whose  difference  is,  for  the  psychol- 
ogist, of  great  practical  importance.      We  accordingly 


56  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

discussed  these  two  sub-types  separately  under  our  first 
and  second    heads.     They   were    respectively    the   two 
sorts  of  signs  of  discriminating  sensitiveness ;  namely, 
the  signs  of  Feeling,  that  is,  of   satisfaction  and  dis- 
satisfaction ;  and  the  signs  of  a  tendency  to   discrimi- 
nate between  the  various  Sensory  Disturbances  that 
come  to   our   organism    from   without.     The    signs   of 
these  two  types  consisted   throughout  in  modes  of  be- 
haviour of  the  organism ;  for  we  are  never  able  to  dis- 
tinguish the  signs  of  any  sorts  of  mental  states,  apart 
from  that  reaction  of  the  organism  to  its  environment 
which  accompanies  these  mental  states.     On  the  other 
hand   these   signs,  so  far  as   they  went,  directly  indi- 
cated to  us    merely  the   organism's  present  state ^  and 
the  relation  of  this  state  to  external  disturbances.     The 
second  type  of  the  signs  of  mind,  discussed  under  our 
third  head,  consisted  of  the  signs  of  Docility.     They 
are  especially  useful  to  the  psychologist  as  indicating 
the   presence   of   what   is    called    Intelligence   and    of 
what  is  called  Conduct.     They  are  inevitably  mingled 
with  and  inseparable  from  the  signs  of  the  first  type. 
But  they  are  signs  of  docility  so  far  as  they  show  us 
that  what  the  organism  now  does  depends  up07i  zvhat  it 
has   done   and  upon    what   has   happened  to    it   in  the 
past.     On  the  higher  level  we  regard  these  signs  as 
convincing  indications  of  the  presence    of  mind ;    and 
therefore  the  analysis  of  these  signs  and  the  study  of 
their  laws  becomes  of  great  aid  to  us  in  the  compre- 


PHYSICAL  SIGNS  OF  THE   PRESENCE  OF   MIND         57 

hension  of  mental  processes.  The  third  type  of  the 
signs  of  mind  we  have  defined  as  the  signs  of  Men- 
tal Initiative.  They  are  suggested  to  us  by  such 
variations  of  intelligent  habits  as  cannot  readily  be 
explained  either  by  the  present  sense  disturbances  or 
by  the  former  experiences  and  habits  of  the  organism 
in  question.  While  they  are  often  suggested  to  us 
by  the  phenomena  that  manifest  what  is  often  called 
the  will,  they  also  appear  in  case  of  the  processes  of 
the  type  of  thoughtful  invention ;  and  their  relation 
to  what  is  usually  called  the  intellect,  as  well  as  to 
what  is  usually  called  the  will,  must  form  the  topic 
of  our  later  study.  But  by  analysing  these  signs, 
even  in  this  preliminary  way,  we  have  enabled  our- 
selves to  map  out  in  advance  the  territory  which 
psychology  must  attempt  to  study. 


CHAPTER   III 

The  Nervous  Conditions  of  the  Manifestation  of 

Mind 

§  26.  The  organic  conditions  for  all  these  manifes- 
tations of  mind  is  the  presence  of  a  nervous  system. 
At  all  events,  such  signs  of  mental  life  as  some  have 
believed  to  be  present  in  organisms  too  low  to  show  us 
any  differentiated  nervous  systems  are  such  as  to  need 
here  no  further  mention.  The  externally  observable 
discriminating  sensitiveness  which  everywhere  accom- 
panies all  the  higher  manifestation  of  mind  is,  physi- 
cally speaking,  a  property  of  nervous  tissue.  ^^  . 

Leaving  to  the  anatomist  and  the  physiologist  .every 
extended  description  of  the  structure  and  functions  of 
our  nervous  system  and  of  its  instruments,  viz.,  the 
sense  organs  and  the  organs  of  muscular  movement, 
the  psychologist  can  here  only  try  to  show  very  sum- 
marily what  characters  of  the  nervous  system  most 
interest  his  own  undertaking. 

The  nervous  system  consists,  for  our  purposes,  of  a 
vast  collection  of  "  elements,"  each  one  of  which  is  a 
"nerve  cell"  that,  in  addition  to  its  minute  central  mass, 
possesses  prolongations  which  are  either  "nerve  fibres" 

58 


NERVOUS  CONDITIONS  59 

or  else  are  other  so-called  "  processes,"  viz.,  minute 
and  multiformly  branching  extensions  of  the  substance 
of  the  nerve  cell.  These  processes,  extending,  in  the 
central  nervous  system,  from  one  cell  to  the  immediate 
neighbourhood  of  other  cells,  form  an  extremely  com- 
plex network  of  finely  divided  threads  of  mosslike  or  of 
mouldlike  collections  of  short  and  long  threads  and 
branchings.  A  current  and  authoritative  but  not  per- 
fectly certain  opinion  holds  that  the  processes  of  one 
cell  probably  never  really  unite  either  with  the  processes 
or  with  the  central  substance  of  any  other  cell.  Thus 
each  cell,  with  its  processes,  lies  it  would  seem  side  by 
side  with  other  cells,  whose  processes,  intertwining  like 
the  foliage  of  neighbouring  trees  with  its  own  processes, 
still  never  grow  into  its  own  substance,  so  that  all 
these  **  elements,"  i.e.  cells,  each  with  its  own  exten- 
sions, are  anatomically  independent.  The  nerve  fibres 
proper,  which  grow  out  of  what  are  called  the  axis- 
cylinder  processes  of  cells,  run  often  for  long  dis- 
tances unbroken  through  the  nervous  system,  either 
reaching  their  various  terminal  organs  in  the  outer  or 
"  peripheral"  portions  of  the  body,  or  else  coming  to  an 
end  in  tuftlike  branchings  in  the  immediate  neighbour- 
hood of  the  cells  whose  functional  relation  to  their  own 
parent  cells  they  are  destined  to  determine.  Nerve 
fibres  often  divide  into  branches  of  equal  value,  or  else 
send  off,  in  their  course  through  the  central  regions 
of  the  nervous  system,  many  accessory  branches,  which 


6o  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

may  terminate  as  does  the  main  fibre,  but  at  points  often 
far  removed  from  one  another.  Thus  any  given  fibre, 
with  its  branches  and  accessories,  may  serve  to  bring 
its  parent  cell  into  some  sort  of  relation  to  many  other 
regions  of  the  central  nervous  system.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  anatomical  independence  of  the  elements 
which  has  thus  been  probably  made  out  suggests  that 
every  cell  has  some  sort  of  relative  and  subordinate 
independence  of  function.  When  it  has  once  received 
any  disturbances,  it  probably  sends  out,  through  its 
processes  and  its  fibre,  its  own  sort  of  excitation ;  but 
very  possibly  this  excitation  does  not  pass  over  from 
the  terminations  of  the  cell  branches  to  any  other  ner- 
vous element  without  considerable  alteration  in  form, 
and  perhaps  in  degree.  It  has  been  suggested  by  the 
experimental  work  of  several  neurologists  that  what  a 
cell  does  to  its  neighbours  or  to  the  more  distant  cells 
with  which  its  fibres  bring  it  into  relation  must  be  some- 
what analogous  to  "induction"  as  known  in  case  of 
electrical  phenomena.  From  this  point  of  view  the 
excitation  of  a  cell  through  the  excitation  of  its  nerve 
fibre  or  by  any  other  means  may  *'  induce  "  other  cells, 
with  which  the  first  cell  stands  in  relation,  to  give  out, 
in  their  turn,  their  own  form  of  excitement,  which  they 
then  pass  over  by  induction  to  yet  other  cells.  In  any 
case,  the  known  general  structure  of  the  nervous  system 
seems  especially  adapted  (i)  to  the  manifold  propaga- 
tion of  excitements  in  various  directions,  (2)  to  the  con- 


NERVOUS   CONDITIONS  6 1 

stant  variation  of  the  form  of  this  excitement  as  it  passes 
from  element  to  element  of  the  nervous  system,  and  (3) 
to  the  most  complex  influence  of  the  excitations  of  one 
part  of  the  nervous  system  upon  the  independently 
aroused  excitations  which  happen  to  be  present  in  other 
parts  of  the  system. 

§  27.  The  best-known  division  that  exists  in  the 
functions  of  the  nervous  system  is  that  between  the 
sensory  afid  the  tnotorfimctions.  Beginning  in  the  more 
external  or  peripheral  regions  of  the  organism,  disturb- 
ances are  constantly  passing  inwards  from  the  sense 
organs,  where  the  fibres  of  the  sensory  nerves  have 
their  outward  endings.  These  sensory  fibres  carry  phys- 
ical disturbances  of  some  still  unknown  form  to  the 
neighbourhood  of  more  centrally  situated  cells,  which 
in  their  turn  may,  and  in  general  obviously  do,  send  the 
excitation  or  its  induced  resultants  to  very  various  parts 
of  the  still  more  centrally  situated  nervous  tissue.  The 
rate  at  which  the  nervous  disturbances  are  carried  in 
nerves  is  in  general  known,  although  not  so  accurately 
in  the  sensory  as  in  the  motor  nerves,  and  is  from  thirty 
to  forty  metres  per  second.  In  the  meantime,  centrally 
initiated  physical  disturbances  are  constantly  passing 
outwards  over  motor  nerves  to  the  terminations  of  these 
nerves  in  muscles,  glands,  etc.,  where  these  disturbances 
produce  complex  effects  upon  the  organs  of  voluntary 
and  involuntary  movement,  upon  the  circulation,  and 
upon  the  secretions.     In  general,  the  sensory  nerves,  in 


62  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

view  of  their  actual  relations  to  the  rest  of  the  organism, 
are  so  disposed  as  to  carry  disturbances  only  inwards,  and 
the  motor  nerves  so  disposed  as  to  carry  only  outwards, 
although  this  law  seems  to  be  not  absolute,  but  only  a 
resultant  of  the  usual  conditions.  The  sensory  nerves 
terminate  outwardly,  as  has  just  been  said,  in  sense 
organs,  which  are  in  general  so  constructed  as  to  expose 
their  nerve  fibres  to  only  one  sort  of  physical  excita- 
tion (as  the  fibres  of  the  optic  nerve  are  normally 
exposed  to  the  effects  which  light  produces  upon  the 
retina,  the  auditory  nerve  to  the  effects  of  sound- 
waves, etc.). 

This  division  between  sensory  and  motor  nerves  is, 
in  the  first  instance,  a  purely  physical  matter,  and  does 
not  by  any  means  name  functions  that  must  have  any 
direct  relation  to  our  mental  states.  For  disturbances 
travelling  inwards  over  sense  nerves  need  not  be  passed 
on  through  the  nerve  centres  until  they  reach  the  level 
of  the  cortex  of  the  brain ;  and  unless  they  do  reach  the 
cortex,  we  have  no  sensory  experience,  and  the  sensory 
motor  process  then  goes  on  without  mental  accompani- 
ment. Just  so,  very  numerous  motor  currents  pass  out- 
wards from  centres  —  i.e.  from  groups  of  cells  situated 
wholly  in  the  spinal  cord  or  elsewhere  below  the  level 
of  the  cortex  —  and  are  in  no  wise  due  to  excitations 
aroused  in  the  cortex.  In  such  cases  the  motor  pro- 
cesses in  question  have  no  relation  to  our  will.  A 
pigeon  deprived  of  its  brain  hemispheres  can  fly,  avoid- 


NERVOUS   CONDITIONS  63 

ing  obstacles ;  can  perch,  balance,  walk,  etc.,  when 
stimulated  to  such  acts  by  appropriate  sensory  disturb- 
ances. It,  however,  no  longer  shows  hunger,  fear,  love, 
or  similar  sorts  of  discriminating  sensitiveness,  and 
gives  no  sufficient  signs  of  such  intellectual  life  as 
would  characterise  an  uninjured  pigeon.  If  left  alone, 
it  rests  in  apparently  absolute  repose  and  indifference  to 
its  environment.  Driven  from  one  perch,  it  merely  flies 
till  it  finds  another.  Thus  the  sensory  excitations  which 
reach  the  brainless  pigeon's  nervous  centres  produce, 
probably  apart  from  any  definite  mental  life,  physical 
disturbances  of  cells,  such  as  stimulate  in  an  always 
rigidly  determined  serial  succession  (through  the  inter- 
mediation of  motor  nerves)  just  the  right  muscular  fibres 
which  are  needed  to  produce  each  time  the  pigeon's  acts 
of  balancing,  flying,  or  perching.  Yet  all  this  appears, 
in  the  end,  to  involve  none  of  the  watchful,  often 
hesitant,  tremulous,  emotionally  busy  sensitiveness  of 
the  normal  pigeon.  The  brainless  pigeon  seems  hke  a 
delicate  but  strictly  determined  machine,  which  never 
really  seeks  to  escape,  and  never  shows  the  least  normal 
concern  for  its  own  preservation,  but  merely  perches 
when  it  touches  a  perch,  flies  when  it  is  in  the  air. 
balances  when  it  begins  to  fall  —  and  all  this  with  the 
stubbornness  of  a  steadily  working  clock. 

So  far,  then,  a  sensory  impression  has  appeared  in  our 
account  as  a  physical  disturbance  that  passes  inwards 
from  a  sense  organ  over  a  sensory  nerve.     In  the  cen- 


nJ 


64  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

tral  masses  of  cells  such  disturbances,  occurring  as  they 
do,  at  any  moment,  in  great  numbers,  produce  changes 
that  are  often  far-reaching,  but  that  are  usually  deter- 
minate as  regards  their  total  outcome,  and  that  often 
are  so  quite  apart  from  any  signs  of  intellect,  of  feehng, 
or  of  will.  In  most  cases,  however,  the  outcome,  if  defi- 
nite, is  some  sort  of  "  adjustment  to  the  environment," 
i.e.  is  of  a  nature  to  be,  in  general,  serviceable  to  the 
life  of  the  organism.  The  adjustment  is  modified  by 
the  endless  interchange  of  excitations  throughout  the 
central  nervous  system,  whose  enormous  numbers  of 
relatively  independent  "elements,"  mutually  inducing 
different  forms  of  excitement  in  one  another  as  soon  as 
any  of  them  are  disturbed,  tend  both  to  the  multipHca- 
tion  and  to  the  control  of  the  effects  of  every  disturb- 
ance. The  useful  movements  that  result  are  such  as 
they  are  because,  in  the  end,  groups  of  muscle  fibres 
get  excited  in  a  definite  serial  order  for  every  complex 
act.  And  this  serial  order  is  determined  by  the  total 
structure  and  the  consequent  functions  of  the  central 
nervous  system. 

§  28.  But  now,  where  the  signs  of  mind  are  definitely 
shown,  the  accompanying  nervous  processes  are  still  of 
the  same  fundamental  sort  as  in  the  cases  just  discussed. 
The  difference  lies  in  the  place,  in  the  complexity,  and 
in  the  significance  of  the  central  nervous  processes  in- 
volved. When,  as  in  our  own  cases,  the  cortex  of  the 
brain  is  present  and  is  actively  functioning,  it  functions 


NERVOUS  CONDITIONS  65 

as  it  does  because  of  the  current  sense  disturbances 
which  reach  it.  The  result  of  the  brain  process  is 
always  an  outward-flowing,  but  very  highly  orderly  —  a 
serially  arranged  —  collection  of  disturbances  which, 
acting  through  the  cooperation  of  lower  centres,  result 
either  in  actual  external  movements,  or  in  tendencies  to 
movement,  or,  finally,  in  the  prevention  of  movements 
which  would  be  carried  out,  at  the  time,  by  the  lower 
centres  if  the  latter  were  not  under  the  control  of  the 
brain.  Intermediate  between  the  ceaseless  income  of 
the  sensory  disturbances  that  reach  the  cortex  so  long 
as  it  is  active,  and  the  equally  ceaseless  outgo  of  the 
motor  processes  (or  of  the  processes  tending  to  the  con- 
trol of  movements),  that  leave  the  cortex  all  through 
our  waking  life,  there  are  central  processes  occurring  in 
the  form  of  an  interchange  of  induced  cellular  disturb- 
ances among  the  elements  of  which  the  cortex  of  the 
brain  is  composed.  As  there  are  some  hundreds  of 
millions  of  these  elements  in  the  grey  matter  which 
forms  the  surface  of  the  brain,  and  as  the  intertwining 
foliage  of  the  branching  forest  of  cell  processes,  together 
with  the  masses  of  innumerable  winding  fibres  that 
wander  from  region  to  region  of  the  brain,  must  deter- 
mine an  august  multiplicity  of  interrelations  among 
these  elements,  it  is  no  wonder  that  these  central  pro- 
cesses should  show  a  simply  inexhaustible  complexity. 
Still  more  marvellous,  however,  from  a  purely  physical 
point  of  view,  is  the  orderliness  which  reigns  amid  the 


66  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

complexity.  This  orderliness  is,  in  general,  due  to  the 
great  law  of  habit.  The  bi'ain  tends  to  do  the  sort  of 
tiling  that  it  has  already  often  done.  The  brain  is, 
meanwhile,  persistently  retentive  of  its  own  once-formed 
habits  regarding  these  interchanges  of  the  activities  of 
its  various  elements  whenever  they  are  excited  in  partic- 
ular ways.  And  it  is  thus  persistent  to  a  degree  which 
we  can  never  cease  to  regard  with  more  wonder  the 
more  we  study  the  brain's  functions.  On  the  other 
hand,  the  cortex  remains,  to  a  remarkably  late  period 
in  life,  persistently  sensitive  to  a  great  variety  of  new 
impressions,  and  capable  of  forming  at  least  a  certain 
number  of  specialised  new  habits  —  such  as  are  involved 
whenever  we  learn  to  recognise  and  name  a  new  ac- 
quaintance, or  to  carry  out  a  new  business  enterprise. 
And  all  these  things,  it  must  be  remembered,  the  cortex 
accomplishes  as  a  physical  mechanism.  If  we  change 
—  by  experimental  interference,  by  accident,  by  poison- 
ing, by  disease  —  any  of  the  physical  conditions  of  the 
cortex,  we  interfere  with  some  or  with  all  of  these 
functions.  Meanwhile,  if  we  at  any  time  were  to  cut 
off  all  sensory  stimulations,  the  brain,  as  many  facts 
indicate,  would  either  soon  cease  to  act  at  all,  or  would 
remain  active  only  in  a  slight  or  in  an  almost  utterly 
insignificant  way.  On  the  other  hand,  so  long  as  the 
brain  is  active,  it  sends  out  motor  stimulations,  or 
stimulations  that  tend  to  control  or  to  suppress  the 
activities  guided  by  lower  centres.     And  it  is  precisely 


NERVOUS   CONDITIONS  t'j 

this  motor  outgo  of  the  brain  that  determines  the  very 
signs  of  mind  which  we  discussed  above. 

Furthermore,  while  the  brain  is,  during  waking  life, 
full  of  general  activity,  it  is  now  well  known  that  every 
definite  outflowing  process,  as  well  as  every  defi- 
nite sensory  stimulation,  involves  sharply  locahsed 
regions  of  the  brain.  Eye  and  ear,  arm  and  leg,  have 
definite  centres  in  the  brain  corresponding  to  the  stimu- 
lation of  the  sense  organ,  or  to  the  movements  of  the 
limb.  Each  of  the  mwieroiis  habits  of  the  brain  mcans^ 
then^  tendencies  to  the  excitement  of  localised  tracts  and. 
paths  tmder  given  physical  conditions.  An  excitement 
passing  over  one  set  of  paths  leads  to  one  system  of 
external  movements,  e.g.  from  eye  centre  to  hand 
centre,  when  one  sees  and  then  grasps.  If  circum- 
stances vary  the  paths,  they  vary  the  motor  results.  It 
is  possible  to  have,  in  cases  of  localised  brain  disorder, 
the  survival  of  a  few  very  complex  habits  of  movement 
in  the  midst  of  the  utter  wreck  of  all  the  other  related 
habits  of  the  same  grade  of  complexity  and  of  similar 
significance  —  as  when  a  patient  loses  all  power  to 
remember  his  native  tongue  except  for  a  few  surviving 
words,  chosen  by  the  disease,  as  it  were,  either  at 
random  or  in  more  or  less  typical  fashion,  to  outlast  the 
rest.  In  this  case  a  few  definite  and  locaUsed  habit- 
worn  paths  for  the  induction  of  activity  remain  after  all 
the  related  paths  of  the  region  in  question  have  been 
destroyed. 


\ 


68  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

Meanwhile,  what  the  brain  at  any  moment  does,  in 
answer  to  the  current  sensory  stimulations,  is  deter- 
mined both  by  its  entire  past  history  and  by  its  inherited 
''temperament"  or  original  type  of  structure.  For  by 
heredity  the  brain  has  come  to  be  just  this  vast  colony 
of  functionally  united  cells.  And,  on  the  other  hand, 
whatever  has  happened  to  the  brain  in  the  past  has 
meant  some  definite  and  usually  sharply  localised 
interchange  of  induced  activities  among  its  elements. 
Every  such  interchange  has  altered  the  minutest  struc- 
ture of  all  the  elements  concerned,  has  established 
localised  paths  between  them  for  future  inductions  to 
follow.  They  can  never  act  again  precisely  as  they 
would  have  done  had  they  not  acted  once  in  just  this 
way.  And  this  is  what  is  meant  by  saying  that  the 
brain  forms  its  habits.  One  must  now,  in  addition, 
note  that  this  formation  of  habits  may  occur  in  the  most 
subtle  fashions.  Parts  that  have  often  functioned 
together  tend  to  function  more  easily  together  again. 
This  is  true  down  to  the  minutest  detail  of  localised 
functions.  But  what  is  still  more  significant  for  all  our 
higher  mental  life  is,  that  general  forms  or  types  of  ac- 
tivity, however  subtle  their  nature,  when  07ice  they  have 
resulted  from  a  given  exchange  of  induced  activities  {due 
to  sensory  stimulations),  may  te7id  thereby  to  becom,e 
henceforth  more  easily  reexcited,  so  that  the  habits  of  our 
braift  may  come  to  be  fixed,  not  m,erely  as  to  the  m,ere 
routine  which  leads  to  this  or  to  that  special  act,  but  as 


NERVOUS  CONDITIONS  69 

to  the  general  ways  171  whicJi  acts  are  do7ic.  A  given 
**  set "  of  the  brain  as  a  whole,  that  is,  a  given  sort  of 
preparedness  to  be  influenced  in  a  certain  way — yes, 
even  a  given  tendency  to  change,  under  particular  con- 
ditions, our  more  specific  fashions  of  activity  —  may 
thus  become  a  matter  of  relatively  or  of  entirely  fixed 
habit ;  so  that,  under  given  conditions,  the  brain,  so  long 
as  it  remains  normally  intact,  is  sure  to  respond  to  cer- 
tain sensory  disturbances  by  assuming  this  *'  set,"  by 
being  ready  for  this  relatively  new  influence,  or  by 
actually  seeming  to  change  even  its  specific  past  habits 
themselves  in  a  certain  general  but  habitually  predeter- 
mined direction,  whenever  given  sorts  of  stimulation  are 
presented.  It  is  known,  for  instance,  that  *'  fickleness  " 
of  conduct,  irrational  change  of  plan  of  behaviour,  can 
itself  become  a  hopelessly  fixed  habit  in  a  given  brain. 
There  is,  then,  no  type  of  activity  so  general  that  some 
brain  cannot  be  trained  to  become  habitually  and 
fatally  predetermined  to  just  that  type  of  interchange 
of  internal  functions,  and  so  to  that  type  of  outward- 
flowing  activity.  On  the  other  hand,  it  is  indeed  true 
that,  owing  to  the  locaHsed  character  of  the  phenomena 
which  determine  single  habits,  the  training  of  one 
specialised  cerebral  function,  in  any  particular  case, 
may  not  result  in  the  training  of  some  other  specialised 
function,  even  where  we,  viewing  the  matter  from  with- 
out, have  supposed  that  these  two  functions  were  very 
intimately  connected.     The  question  as    to   just    luhat 


yo  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

effect  the  training  of  any  one  special  function  will  have 
upon  other  functions,  or  upon  the  general  tendencies  of 
the  brain,  is  therefore  always  a  question  to  be  answered 
by  specific  experience.  This  the  teacher,  in  estimating 
the  general  effects  of  new  educational  devices  upon  the 
pupils,  must  always  remember. 

§  29.  Of  the  general  relation  of  the  activities  of  the 
cortex  to  those  of  the  lower  nervous  centres,  and  of  the 
relations  between  various  activities  of  the  cortex  itself, 
it  still  remains  to  say  here  a  few  words.  The  brain 
cortex  directs,  by  itself  alone,  and  apart  from  the  co- 
operation of  lower  nervous  centres,  no  externally 
observable  motor  processes.  What  it  does  is  partly  to 
combine  and  elaborate,  partly  to  guide  by  slight  altera- 
tions, and  partly  to  hold  back  or  to  inhibit  the  activi- 
ties which  other  centres,  left  to  themselves,  would  carry 
out  in  response  to  the  sensory  stimuli  which  reach 
them.  The  brain  also  arouses  the  lower  centres  to 
act  in  its  service  by  substituting  its  own  stimulations 
for  external  disturbances.  The  character  of  the  cortex 
as  an  organ  for  preventing  or  "  inhibiting"  the  functions 
of  lower  centres  is  of  very  great  importance,  and  well 
exemplifies  the  sort  of  hierarchy  which  obtains  among 
our  nervous  centres.  Within  the  brain  itself  a  similar 
hierarchy  exists,  and  a  similar  system  of  mutual  inhibi- 
tions gets  formed  on  the  basis  of  our  experience. 
'v.  §  30.  Upon  the  process  of  "  inhibition,"  i.e.  of 
the  prevention  or  overcoming  of  one  form  of  nervous 


NERVOUS  CONDITIONS  7 1 

excitement  through  the  very  fact  of  the  presence  of  an- 
other, the  organisation  of  all  our  higher  life  depends. 
What,  in  any  situation^  we  arc  restrained  from  doing  is 
as  imp07'tant  to  us  as  zvhat  we  do.  Tension,  the  mutual 
opposition  and  balancing  of  numerous  tendencies,  is 
absolutely  essential  to  normal  life.  The  brain  receives, 
at  every  waking  instant,  an  enormous  overwealth  of 
sensory  stimulation.  For  instance,  the  habits  of  those 
portions  of  the  brain  which  receive  the  fibres  of  the 
optic  nerve,  and  of  those  portions  which  direct  our 
eye  movements,  are  such  that  every  object  of  the  least 
note  in  our  field  of  vision  actually  acts  as  a  stimulus  to 
incite  us  to  look  directly  at  itself.  Consequently,  if 
the  eyes  are  idle,  the  presence  of  any  one  bright  light 
in  the  otherwise  indifferent  field  of  vision  is  a  physical 
disturbance,  to  which  the  natural  motor  response  is  the 
turning  of  the  eyes  toward  that  light.  And  so,  if  the 
field  of  vision  is  full  of  interesting  objects,  all  of  them 
thus  tend  to  excite  various  motor  responses  on  the  part 
of  the  eyes.  In  order  to  look  steadily,  for  even  a 
moment,  in  any  one  direction,  we  therefore  have  to 
inhibit  all  of  these  tendencies  except  the  one  whose  tri- 
umph means  seeing  the  preferred  object.  This  is  only 
one  among  the  countless  cases  where  the  accomplish- 
ment of  a  given  act  means  the  inhibition  of  other  acts 
to  which  the  brain  is  meanwhile  incited  by  the  presence 
of  some  habitually  effective  stimulation. 

As  every  normal  stimulation  that  reaches  our  brains 


72  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

during  our  adult  years  is  likely  to  appeal  more  or  less 
vigorously  to  some  established  brain  habit,  the  need  of 
such  suppression  of  possible  motor  processes  is  abso- 
lute and  continuous.  The  problem  of  the  inhibition 
of  those  habits  of  movement  whose  presence  at  any 
given  moment  would  injure  the  useful  adjustment  of 
our  organisms  to  their  environment  is,  despite  its  com- 
plexity, solved,  in  case  of  all  the  higher  nervous  cen- 
tres by  the  presence  of  certain  general  and  very 
characteristic  physical  processes  whose  nature  is  still 
very  ill  understood,  but  whose  beautiful  adaptation 
to  their  purpose  we  can  already  to  some  extent  esti- 
mate. We  have  before  spoken  of  what  may  be  called 
the  general  "set,"  or  "sort  of  preparedness  for  a  given 
kind  of  excitation,"  which  the  brain  at  any  moment 
maybe  brought  to  assume.  This  "set"  is  in  general 
itself  the  obvious  result  of  a  previous  series  of  sensory 
stimulations,  and  of  an  appeal  to  old  habits,  and  it 
may  come  to  pass  either  suddenly  or  quite  gradually. 
Once  assumed,  any  given  "set"  of  the  brain  mani- 
fests itself  by  the  fact  that,  for  the  time,  one  group  of 
sense  experiences  tends  to  arouse  the  motor  habits  that 
have  become  attached  to  them  in  consequence  of  the 
past  experiences  of  the  brain,  while  the  motor  habits 
to  which  all  other  current  sense  impressions  appeal  are 
in  great  measure  inhibited.  Yet  these  relatively  in- 
effective sense  impressions  certainly  reach,  in  most 
cases,    their    centres   in   the   brain ;   for,   if    altered   a 


NERVOUS   CONDITIONS  73 

little  from  their  current  character,  they  may  at  once 
assert  their  presence  by  calling  out  movements  that 
show  concern  in  the  alteration.  A  similar  "set"  may 
be  given  by  the  action  of  the  brain  to  a  group  of  lower 
centres,  which  then  proceed  to  react  automatically  to 
external  stimuli  until  the  whole  process  is  cut  off  by 
external  stimuli,  or  by  a  new  signal  from  the  cortex ; 
and  while  this  "set"  continues,  all  other  motor  habits 
of  the  centres  in  question  are  inhibited. 

§  31.  Examples,  both  of  inhibition  in  general  and 
of  its  relation  to  the  passing  general  "  condition  of 
preparedness "  of  the  higher  and  lower  centres,  are 
easy  to  give.  In  general,  all  higher  intellectual  pro- 
cesses are  accompanied  by  processes  in  the  cortex 
which  appear,  when  seen  from  without,  enormously 
inhibitory.  One  absorbed  in  writing  or  reading  lets 
pass  without  response  countless  impressions  which 
pretty  certainly  reach  the  brain  —  impressions  to  which, 
under  ordinary  circumstances,  he  would  respond  by 
acts  of  looking,  of  listening,  of  grasping,  or  of  other 
more  or  less  useful  or  playful  types  of  adjustment. 
Let  him  cease  the  higher  activity,  and  he  adjusts  him- 
self more  vivaciously  to  the  lesser  matters  of  his  en- 
vironment. An  absorbed  public  speaker,  an  actor,  or 
a  man  in  a  formal  social  company,  inhibits  those  move- 
ments, however  habitual  they  are  in  other  company, 
and  however  strong  the  momentary  sensory  solicitation 
to  them,  which  his  habits  have  taught  him  to  suppress 


74  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

as  being  here  "out  of  character."  This  word  "char- 
acter," here  names  the  mental  equivalent  of  a  given 
"set"  of  brain.  So  long  as  one  assumes  the  "char- 
acter "  the  well-practised  inhibitions  triumph.  If  one 
goes  home,  or  changes  one's  company,  those  former 
inhibitions  may  vanish  as  if  they  never  had  been,  and 
it  may  be  even  impossible  to  reassume  them,  except  in 
particular  surroundings.  In  case  of  the  relations  of 
higher  and  lower  centres,  the  "  set "  of  a  group  of 
lower  nervous  processes  is  well  illustrated  by  the  ac- 
tivity of  walking,  which  consists  of  a  regulated  series 
of  motor  adjustments  to  sensory  stimulation,  —  leg  move- 
ments, acts  of  balancing,  etc.  This  series  is  largely 
under  the  control  of  relatively  lower  centres,  both  in 
the  cortex  and  below.  It  may  be  initiated  by  a  signal 
from  above.  Once  begun,  it  is  continued  with  a  con- 
sequent inhibition  of  all  inconsistent  muscular  move- 
ments, and  with  little  or  no  guidance  from  the  more 
complex  groups  of  brain  centres,  until  the  signal  to 
pause  is  given.  Then  other  activities  of  adjustment 
take  the  place  of  the  ones  that  have  come  to  an  end. 
Thus  one  pauses  in  a  walk  through  a  garden  to  sur- 
vey more  carefully  the  appearance  of  the  flowers,  to 
do  a  piece  of  work  that  requires  the  skilful  use  of  the 
hands,  etc.  The  rule  of  inhibition,  as  regards  the 
before-mentioned  hierarchy  of  the  nervous  centres, 
seems  to  be  that  the  higher  a  given  function  is^  the  more 
numerous  are  the  inJiibitory  influences  that  it  exercises 


NERVOUS   CONDITIONS  75 

over  loiver  centres.  Intense  brain  activity  of  the  high- 
est sort  is  opposed,  while  it  lasts,  to  nearly  all  the  sim- 
pler functions  above  the  level  of  the  vital  necessities, 
except  the  very  few,  such  as  reading  or  speaking,  which 
training  may  have  brought  into  the  direct  service  of 
the  highest  activity  itself.  Excite  a  child's  brain  to 
anything  approaching  absorbing  activity  (ye.g.  by  telling 
the  child  an  interesting  story),  and  for  the  time  you 
"keep  him  quiet."  Otherwise  he  runs  about,  looks 
here  and  there,  laughs,  wriggles,  kicks,  prattles  —  all 
adjustments  to  his  environment,  adjustments  either  use- 
ful or  playful,  but  of  a  simpler  sort.  These  may  cease 
by  inhibition  when  the  story  begins.  The  child  may 
then  sit  for  a  short  time  with  moveless  hands,  with 
optic  axes  parallel,  i.e.  with  eyes  "gazing  far  off," 
with  legs  hanging  loosely,  with  falling  lower  jaw  — 
all  of  them  more  or  less  inhibitory  phenomena. 

§  32.  The  practical  consequences  of  this  general 
principle  of  the  inhibitory  character  of  the  higher 
nervous  protesses  are  multitudinous.  Absence  of  in- 
hibitions is  a  familiar  sign  of  nervous  disorder  or 
degeneration,  and  also,  in  children,  of  immaturity. 
"  Self-control "  is  an  essential  part  of  health.  This 
principle  furnishes  the  reason  why  so  much  of  our 
educational  work  has  to  be  expended  in  teaching  "self- 
control,"  whose  physical  aspect  is  always  the  presence 
of  inhibitory  functions.  The  moral  law  has  often  been 
expressed  in  the  form  of  the  well-known  "  Thou  sJialt 


76  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

not!'  Such  negative  precepts  always  presuppose  that 
in  the  person  who  really  needs  to  be  taught  by  the 
precept,  a  disposition  or  habit  of  brain  preexists  which 
involves,  when  left  to  itself,  a  certain  sort  of  response 
to  a  given  environment,  e.g.  in  an  extreme  case,  a 
tendency  to  the  expressive  acts  called,  in  human  social 
relations,  theft  or  murder.  Instead  of  telling  such  a 
man  what  positive  motor  activity  to  substitute  for  such 
doings,  the  negative  precept  undertakes  to  point  out 
that,  as  a  condition  prior  to  any  better  adjusted  con- 
duct, these  motor  tendencies,  at  least,  must  be  inhib- 
ited. But  their  inhibition  is  to  be  actually  brought 
about,  in  case  of  the  successful  moral  precept,  through 
the  influence  of  what  is  called  in  psychological  lan- 
guage "  suggestion."  The  physical  efficacy  of  such 
"  suggestion "  depends,  however,  upon  its  appeal  to 
brain  habits,  of  a  very  high  level,  which,  like  the 
other  higher  processes,  have  a  general  capacity  to 
act  in  an  inhibitory  sense,  as  against  functions  of 
lower  levels  or  of  a  more  primitive  simplicity. 

But  just  as  we  often  train  habits  of  inhibition  as  a 
preliminary  to  the  more  positive  establishment  of  use- 
ful higher  functions,  it  is,  even  so,  true  that,  whenever 
we  can  get  higher  functions  of  a  positive  sort  estab- 
lished, we  thereby  train  inhibitory  tendencies.  And, 
on  the  whole,  this  is  the  wiser  course  for  the  teacher 
of  the  growing  brain  to  take,  where  such  a  course  is 
possible.     Inhibition  is  a  constant  means,  but  it  is  still 


NERVOUS   CONDITIONS  77 


but  a  means  to  an  end.  The  end  is  the  right  sort  of 
motor  process.  Vou  teach  a  man  to  control  or  to  re^ 
strain  himself  so  sooii  as  you  teach  hirjt  what  to  di 
in  a  positive  sense.  Healthy  activity  includes  self- 
restraint,  or  inhibition,  as  one  of  its  elements.  You 
in  vain  teacJi^  tJien^  self-control,  unless  you  teach  much 
more  thaft  self-control.  The  New  Testament  state- 
ment of  "  the  law  and  the  prophets "  substitutes 
"Thou  Shalt  love,"  etc.,  for  the  "Thou  shalt  not" 
of  the  Ten  Commandments.  A  brain  that  is  de- 
voted to  mere  inhibition  becomes,  in  very  truth,  like 
the  brain  of  a  Hindoo  ascetic  —  a  mere  "  parasite  "  of 
the  organism,  feeding,  as  it  were,  upon  all  the  lower 
inherited  or  acquired  nervous  functions  of  this  organ- 
ism by  devoting  itself  to  their  hindrance.  In  persons  of 
morbidly  conscientious  life  such  inhibitory  phenomena 
may  easily  get  an  inconvenient,  and  sometimes  do  get 
a  dangerous  intensity.  The  result  is  then  a  fearful, 
cowardly,  helpless  attitude  toward  life  —  an  attitude 
which  defeats  its  own  aim  and  renders  the  sufferer  not, 
as  he  intends  to  be,  "good,"  but  a  positive  nuisance. 

The  practical  problem  as  to  the  degree  of  inhibition 
which  it  is  well  to  establish  in  our  nervous  life  is  one 
which  wholesome  people  meet  in  part  by  the  device  of 
a  duly  changing  or  alternating  activity  of  the  central 
nervous  system.  The  strain  of  absorbing  intellectual 
work  is,  in  considerable  part,  pretty  obviously  either 
conditioned  or  intensified  by  two  factors  .*  ( i )  tJie  actual 


D- 


78  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

nervous  expenditin'e  involved  in  the  inhibitory  processes 
themselves.  While  one  works,  countless  excitations  tend 
to  set  free  lower  motor  functions,  and  all  these  tenden- 
cies have  to  be  held  back  by  counter  signals  from  higher 
nervous  stations.  This  in  itself  involves  a  great  deal  of 
motor  expenditure.  "To  sit  still"  is  itself,  in  general, 
a  motor  process,  and  is  often  a  very  hard  one,  e.g. 
when  one  is  in  an  exciting  or  harassing  situation,  and 
when  prudence  says,  "Do  nothing;  wait  and  see." 
(2)  The  indirect  effects  of  7ion-exercise  of  the  inhibited 
functions:  to  sit  still  and  think,  to  restrain  ourselves, 
means  to  condemn  many  groups  of  muscles  to  inac- 
tivity. This  means  a  tendency  to  disturbed  nutritive 
processes,  and  so  in  the  end  an  unequal  development 
or  an  actual  degeneration  of  the  whole  organism.  We 
relieve  the  strain  as  well  as  favour  the  neglected  organs 
when  we  substitute  exercise  for  inhibition.  Variation 
of  labour  is  thus,  in  itself,  and  within  limits,  actual 
motor  rest  or  recreation.  "To  let  ourselves  go," 
within  the  bounds  of  propriety,  duty,  and  modera- 
tion, involves  a  rest  from  the  heavy  motor  task  of 
"holding  ourselves  still."  This  is  especially  true  in 
children,  in  whom  the  inhibitory  processes  are  ill- 
formed,  and  therefore  the  more  laborious.  Young 
children  should  never  be  asked  to  continue  long  any 
one  type  of  inhibitory  process.  With  them  any  one 
persistent  "set"  of  the  brain  becomes  very  soon  an 
injurious  incident. 


NERVOUS   CONDITIONS  79 

On  the  other  hand,  not  every  change  of  the  "set" 
of  brain  is  itself  restful.  The  phenomena  of  "worry" 
include  many  "  changes  of  mind,"  i.e.  of  more  special 
"set"  of  the  brain.  Yet  the  result  is  disastrous.  But 
the  effects  of  worry  seem  to  be  very  largely  due  to  the 
strong  tension  existing  in  the  worried  person  between  his 
abnormally  numerous  sensory  incitations  to  particular 
acts  and  that  general  "  set "  of  his  brain  which,  so  long 
as  he  is  worried,  survives  all  his  actual  changes  of 
special  "  set "  or  plan,  and  tends  to  inhibit  all  sorts 
of  definite  or  connected  activity.  Whether  he  rushes 
about  or  lies  still  in  pretended  rest,  whether  his  mood 
is  this  or  that,  he  is  all  the  while  incited  to  act,  and  is 
busy  holding  himself  back  from  effective  action.  His 
endless  question,  "  What  shall  I  do } "  his  motor  rest- 
lessness, his  petty  and  useless  little  deeds,  all  express 
his  inability  to  choose  between  the  numerous  tenden- 
cies to  movement  which  his  situation  arouses.  Count- 
less motor  habits  are  awakened,  and  then  at  once  sup- 
pressed. In  his  despair  he  tries  to  inhibit  all  acts  until 
the  plan  —  the  saving  plan  —  shall  appear.  And  so,  ac- 
complishing nothing,  he  may  do  far  more  motor  work 
than  an  acrobat.  But  let  the  dreaded  calamity  over 
whose  mere  possibility  he  worries  actually  befall  him. 
The7i,  indeed,  there  is  often  but  one  course  of  conduct, 
perhaps  a  very  simple  one,  suggested  by  his  new  situ- 
ation. The  useless  inhibitions  vanish.  One  definite 
"set"    of    brain    is,    indeed,    substituted    for   the    pre- 


80  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

ceding  state,  but  the  new  one  is  free  from  the  over- 
numerous  and  violent  special  tensions  between  higher 
and  lower  centres  and  functions  which  characterised 
the  former.  The  recently  worried  man  may  hereupon 
become  cool,  may  wonder  that  he  can  bear  the  worst  so 
much  more  easily  than  he  could  the  uncertainty,  and 
may  by  contrast  find  not  only  rest,  but  a  kind  of  joy 
in  the  relief  occasioned  by  the  cessation  of  useless 
motor  processes.  Where  the  man  himself  has  wor- 
ried, it  is  thus  often  the  part  of  the  seemingly  most 
cruel  fate  to  rest  him ;  and  this  the  latter  then  does 
by  cutting  off  the  extra  inhibitions  in  favour  of  an 
easily  accomplished  response  to  definite  stimulations. 
Finally,  in  this  connection,  it  may  be  observed  that 
when  a  given  series  of  acts,  involving  a  certain  number 
of  successive  inhibitions,  has  to  be  accomplished,  much 
more  mental  strain  is  involved  and  more  weariness 
results,  according  as  the  inhibitions  themselves  have 
to  be  made  objects  of  a  more  definite  consciousness 
or  volition.  And  the  degree  of  strain  increases  very 
rapidly  with  the  attention  given  to  the  inhibitory  side 
of  the  process.  Hence  the  hard  labour  involved  in 
learning  new  adjustments,  in  acts  of  voluntary  atten- 
tion, and  in  conscious  self-restraint  generally. 


CHAPTER   IV 

General  Features  of  Conscious  Life 

§  33.  A  certain  proportion  of  the  foregoing  func- 
tional processes  are  attended  by  mental  states.  In 
general  our  mental  life,  or,  as  it  is  often  called,  our 
consciousness,  attends  those  processes  which,  while 
involving  the  cortex,  are  of  a  decidedly  complex  grade 
and  of  a  relatively  hesitant  character,  or  which  come 
in  consequence  of  the  graver  interferences  on  the  part 
of  our  environment.  Our  most  perfect  adjustments  to 
our  environment  are  accomplished  unconsciously,  un- 
less we  chance  to  become  aware  of  them  through 
their  relations  to  what  is  actually  concerning  our  con- 
scious life.  Our  mental  life,  however,  regularly  at- 
tends (i)  those  of  our  habitual  cortical  functions  which 
are  at  any  time  considerably  altered  to  meet  novel 
conditions,  and  which  accordingly  have,  despite  their 
skill,  a  relatively  hesitant  fallibility  about  them  ;  (2) 
those  of  our  functions  which  are  considerably  disturbed 
in  their  normal  flow  by  the  intensity  or  the  novelty 
of  the  external  stimulation  ;  and  (3)  those  of  our  func- 
tions which,  in  relation  to  the  other  functions  present 

G  81 


82  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

in  the  cortex,  have  a  physical  intensity  that  exceeds 
the  average  of  what  is  going  on  at  the  same  time. 
For  example,  we  are  conscious  when  we  think  out  a 
new  plan,  but  we  perform  numerous  acts  of  mere 
routine  without  noticing  them.  What  we  do  very 
rapidly  we  fail  to  follow,  in  its  details,  with  our  men- 
tal life.  What,  as  being  somewhat  novel,  we  do  with 
"  deliberation,"  we  may  follow  very  adequately.  But 
the  physical  accompaniments  of  strong  states  of  feel- 
ing, however  swiftly  they  bring  some  reaction  to  pass, 
still  imply  a  change  in  our  consciousness.  And  in- 
tense experiences,  such  as  disagreeable  noises  (the 
sound  of  a  hand-organ  or  of  a  hurdy-gurdy),  may  long 
retain  a  place  in  consciousness  which  may  be  out  of 
proportion  either  to  the  importance,  or  to  the  novelty, 
or  to  the  complexity,  or  to  the  deliberateness  of  the 
motor  functions  which  they  arouse.  ■'Meanwhile,  the 
precise  conditions  that  mark  the  boundary  between 
those  functions  which  have  no  mental  equivalents 
and  those  to  which  consciousness  corresponds,  is  un- 
known. What  we  are  sure  of  is  that  our  consciousness 
is  a  very  inadequate  representative  of  what  goes  on  in 
our  cortex. 
^  §  34.  The  mental  life  which  accompanies  these 
functions  consists  of  a  "  stream  of  consciousness  "  in 
which  we  can  generally  distinguish  many  "  states  "  or 
different  "  contents  "  of  consciousness.  The  "  stream 
of  consciousness  "  is  the   name   frequently  applied   to 


GENERAL   FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  83 

what  passes  in  our  mental  life,  because,  mentally  speak- 
ing, we  live  in  a  state  of  constant  inner  change,  so 
that  no  portion  of  our  consciousness  ever  remains 
long  without  some  alteration,  while  most  of  our  con- 
tents are  always  changing  pretty  rapidly.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  changes  in  our  inner  state  are,  in 
general,  however  swift  they  may  be,  still  somewhat 
gradual  when  compared  with  the  swifter  physical 
changes  known  to  us.  A  flash  of  lightning  lasts 
very  much  longer  for  our  sight  than  it  does  as  a 
fact  in  the  physical  world.  This  is  partly  due  to  the 
"inertia"  of  the  retina  of  the  eye.  But  a  similar 
"inertia"  holds  of  all  our  central  processes.  Every 
mental  experience  always  joins  on,  more  or  less,  to 
subsequent  experiences,  and  in  general  to  previous 
experiences  also.  A  new  experience  gradually  wins 
our  attention,  reaches  its  height,  and  dies  away  as 
our  attention  is  turned  to  the  next ;  and  even  in  very 
sudden  experiences  this  relatively  gradual  character 
of  the  process  can  be  noted,  if  not  at  the  beginning 
then  at  the  end  of  the  experience,  as  it  slips  away 
into  a  mere  memory.  If  one  Hstens  to  any  simple 
rhythm,  such  as  the  ticking  of  a  watch,  one  can  note 
how  the  succession  of  separate  ticks  is  viewed  by 
our  consciousness  in  such  a  way  that  the  successive 
beats  do  not  stand  as  merely  separate  facts,  but  are 
always  elements  in  the  whole  experienced  rhythm  to 
which  they  seem  to  belong,  while  the  successive  pres- 


84  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

entations  of  the  rhythm  form  a  sort  of  stream  of 
events,  each  one  of  which  gradually  dies  out  of  mind 
as  the  new  event  enters.  In  consciousness  there  is 
no  such  thing  as  an  indivisible  present  moment.  What 
happens  in  our  minds  during  any  one  thousandth  of 
a  second  of  even  the  busiest  inner  life  none  of  us  can 
possibly  make  out.  The  contents  of  mind,  as  we  know 
them  in  the  "  psychological  present,"  constitute  at  the 
very  least  a  considerable  and  flowing  series  of  changes, 
the  least  appreciable  portion  of  which  takes  up  a  con- 
siderable fraction  of  a  second. 

As  for  these  "  contents  "  themselves  of  the  stream  of 
consciousness,  it  is  well  to  say  at  once  that  they  never 
form  any  rnere  collection  of  "  ideas  "  or  of  other  simple 
and  divided  states.  Consciousness  is  not  a  shower  of 
shot,  but  a  stream  with  distinguishable  ideas  or  other 
such  clearer  mental  contents  floating  on  its  surface. 
What  we  find  in  any  passing  moment  is  a  little  portion 
of  the  "stream,"  a  "pulse,"  or  "wave"  of  mental 
change,  some  of  whose  contents  may  be  pretty  sharply 
distinguished,  by  what  is  called  our  attention,  from  the 
rest,  while  the  body  of  the  stream  consists  of  contents 
that  can  no  longer  be  sharply  sundered  from  one 
another.  If  one  listens  to  music,  the  notes  or  the 
chords  may,  in  their  series  as  they  pass,  appear  as 
sharply  separable  contents.  But  these  stand  out,  or 
float,  upon  a  stream  of  mental  life  which  includes  one's 
estimate  of  the  time  sequence  of  the  music  as  a  whole, 


GENERAL   FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  85 

one's  pleasure  in  hearing  the  music,  one's  train  of 
associated  memories,  one's  general  sense  of  the  current 
bodily  comfort  and  discomfort,  and  much  more  of  the 
sort,  which  no  man  can  analyse  into  any  collection  of 
separate  or  even  separable  states.  In  consequence,  we 
are  never  able,  by  any  device  at  our  disposal,  to  tell 
with  certainty  the  whole  of  what  is,  or  just  was,  present 
to  any  one  moment  of  our  conscious  life.  The  old 
question  whether  one  can  have  "  more  than  one  idea  at 
a  time  "  present  to  one's  mind  is  a  question  absurdly 
put.  Present  at  any  one  time  to  one's  mind  is  a  small 
portion  of  the  flowing  stream  of  mental  contents,  in 
which  one  can  in  general  distinguish  at  least  two,  and 
sometimes  more,  elements  of  content  (perceptions,  feel- 
ings, images,  ideas,  words,  impulses,  motives,  hopes, 
intentions,  or  the  like),  while  beside  and  beneath  what 
one  can  distinguish  there  is  the  body  of  the  stream  or 
(to  change  the  metaphor)  the  background  of  conscious- 
ness, where  one  can  no  longer  distinguish  anything  in 
detail,  although  in  some  other  moment  one  may  easily 
note  how  the  whole  background  has  changed. 

§  35.  In  this  general  characterisation  of  the  ''stream 
of  consciousness "  we  have  already  by  implication 
answered  certain  questions  that  are  of  fundamental 
importance  for  psychological  theory.  Plainly  the  con- 
scious state  of  any  moment  involves  two  characteristic 
features,  the  so-called  "  Unity  of  Consciousness,"  as  it 
is  exemplified  at  that  precise  moment,  and  the  equally 


86  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

obvious  presence  of  a  Variety  of  mental  states,  which 
have  to  one  another  relations  of  similarity  and  of  dif- 
ference. By  the  phrase  "  unity  of  consciousness  "  we 
mean  the  fact  that,  at  any  time,  whatever  is  present 
tends  to  fo7"m  an  always  incomplete  but  still,  in  some  re- 
spects,  single  co7iscio7is  co7iditio7i.  If  you  look  at  your 
open  hand  you  see  at  once  more  than  one  finger.  On 
this  page  you  see  at  07ice  more  than  one  printed  letter. 
If  you  look  at  a  person  who  is  speaking  to  you,  you  at 
07ice  see  him  and  hear  him.  If  bad  news  disturbs  your 
mind,  you  are  at  07ice  conscious  of  certain  ideas  which 
the  bad  news  arouses,  and  of  the  distress  which  this 
news  occasions.  In  all  these  cases,  the  phrase  "  at 
once "  stands  for  the  fact  that  we  more  technically 
characterise  as  the  present  unity  of  consciousness.  The 
facts  present  to  mind  are  not  merely  various,  they  occur 
together.  In  what  way  they  occur  together,  in  what  sense 
we  are  "  at  once "  aware  of  them,  every  person  must 
observe  for  himself.  The  unity  of  consciousness  is 
directly  accessible  only  to  its  own  single  observer. 
Nobody  else  can  directly  verify  the  fact  that  such  unity 
exists.  But  the  agreement  in  the  various  reports  given 
of  this  unity  by  many  observers  constitutes  the  objective 
evidence  upon  which  the  psychologist  depends  when 
he  makes  his  assertion.  The  phrase  "  at  once  "  is  of 
common  occurrence,  even  in  popular  language,  as  a 
means  of  characterising  the  unity  of  conscious  states. 
When  more  careful  examination  is  made  for  psychologi- 


; 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF   CONSCIOUS   LIFE  8/ 

cal  purposes  the  character  of  this  unity  becomes  more 
precisely  definable,  yet,  after  having  made  proper 
provisions  for  securing  exact  observation,  every  one 
must  judge  for  himself  the  aptness  of  any  characterisa- 
tion which  may  be  offered  in  the  effort  to  express  the 
nature  of  the  unity  of  consciousness. 

This  fact  of  the  unity  of  every  conscious  state  is 
one  for  which  there  is  no  precise  parallel  in  the 
physical  world,  as  we  are  ordinarily  accustomed  to 
conceive  that  world.  There  are  many  senses  in  which 
various  phenomena  of  nature,  occurring  outside  of 
our  minds,  may  be  regarded  as  forming  a  unity. 
Thus  we  speak  of  one  forest,  of  one  range  of  moun- 
tains, or  of  one  ocean.  In  a  similar  way  each  thing 
in  the  physical  world  is  regarded  as  in  some  sense 
a  unity  of  many  properties  and  states.  Yet,  in  all 
such  cases,  the  sense  in  which  we  speak  of  the 
physical  object  as  one  or  as  many  seems  somewhat 
arbitrary ;  and  changes  with  our  own  point  of  view 
as  external  observers  of  the  facts.  We  sometimes  say 
that  the  word  "  forest "  is  merely  a  collective  name 
for  the  many  trees,  or  even  that  the  term  "  thing " 
stands  for  a  collection  of  physical  facts  and  processes 
which  our  subjective  interests  unify,  but  which  "  in 
themselves "  are  so  many  distinct  facts.  But  the 
unity  of  consciousness  is  a  fact  constantly  forced 
upon  us  whatever  our  point  of  view.  For  720  one  can 
obseri'e  a  mental  variety  of  inner  states  without  finding 


88  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

these  states  together  in  his  one   inclusive   co7idition   of 
7nind. 

The  unity  of  consciousness  is  sometimes  compared 
to   that   of   a   living   organism.      Just    as   the   various 
functions    and   organs  of   a  Uving   body   constitute   in 
some  sense  a  single  whole,  so,  as   one  often   says,  the 
various    states    present    at    once    to     mind    have    an 
organic  unity.      Yet  the  comparison  is  not  altogether 
satisfactory.      For  the  considerations   that  lead  us  to 
regard    a    living  organism  as  a  unity  of  many  organs 
and  functions  are  decidedly  complicated,  and  are  pre- 
sented   to   us   indirectly,    so   that   we    often    have    to 
think,   with    considerable    doubt,    whether    or    no   we 
shall   call   some    large    organism    a   single    individual, 
or   a   colony   of    many  individuals.     But   the   unity  of 
consciousness   we   have   always  with   us,    not  because 
we   think   out   some   reason    why    consciousness    must 
be  one,  but  because  all  that  happens  at  any  moment 
within   our   minds    constitutes  for   us    a   single    event, 
however   complex   this   event   may   be.      Furthermore, 
the  reasons  that  lead  us  to  call  an  organism  one  de- 
pend wholly  upon  cooperation  and  mutual  support  of 
various    organic    processes.      But    the    unity    of   con- 
sciousness  exists   in   some  degree,   however   distracted 
our    inner    state    may    be,    and    however    much    the 
various  tendencies  present  may  seem  to  disturb  or   to 
oppose  one   another.     Thus,  if    an    intolerable  discord 
breaks  into  the  midst  of  a  musical  harmony  (as  when, 


GENERAL   FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  89 

while  some  one  is  playing  beautiful  music,  a  hand- 
organ  begins  outside,  or  the  scraping  of  a  file  upon 
metal  is  heard),  these  various  mental  presentations 
seem  not  mutually  to  support  one  another  in  any 
organic  way  ;  yet,  so  far  as  they  are  present  at  once, 
there  is  still  a  unity  of  consciousness,  however  dis- 
tracted and  incomplete  this  unity  may  appear. 

§  36.  On  the  other  hand,  the  fact  of  the  Variety 
present  to  consciousness  at  any  moment  is  equally 
obvious.  TJie  07ie  conscious  state  of  the  moment  is 
always  a  unity  consisting  of  a  multiplicity.  The 
relation  between  these  two  aspects  of  the  present 
consciousness  is  best  observable  in  cases  where  the 
unity  and  the  multiplicity  involve  a  certain  harmoni- 
ous effect.  This  occurs  when  we  listen  to  music,  and 
are  aware  at  once  of  several  harmoniously  related 
facts,  such  as  tone,  harmony,  and  rhythm.  It  occurs 
also  when  we  enjoy  decorative  art,  and  are  aware 
of  a  complex  of  lines,  of  forms,  and  of  colours,  com- 
posing a  pleasing  totahty.  Yet,  as  already  pointed 
out,  disharmonious  and  distracting  conscious  states 
contain  the  contrasting  aspects  of  unity  and  variety, 
in  so  far  as  the  most  painful  and  distressing  com- 
plications of  the  moment  are  experienced  at  once. 
There  are  some  cases  where  the  unity  of  the  con- 
scious* state  seems  to  be  predominant,  and  where  the 
element  of  variety  tends  to  lapse.  Such  states  occur 
on  the   borderland    of   sleep,    or    in    conditions   where 


90  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

for  any  reason  we  become  aware  rather  of  the  total 
impression  of  the  instant,  rather  than  of  the  variety 
of  experiences  that  occur  within  this  instant.  Yet 
the  variety  never  wholly  disappears,  unless  conscious- 
ness itself  disappears.  When  the  last  differences  lapse, 
then  we  become  insensible.  When  we  are  aware  only 
of  unity,  it  appears  that  we  then  become  aware  of 
nothing  at  all. 

§  37.  As  the  last  statement  made  indicates,  the 
variety  present  at  any  one  instant  of  consciousness 
is  a  variety  of  differcjit  elements.  To  say  this  is  to 
utter  in  one  sense  the  barest  of  commonplaces.  Yet, 
in  another  sense,  the  statement  becomes  important, 
because  it  attracts  attention  to  the  two  most  funda- 
mental relations  which  can  exist  amongst  the  various 
states  that  are  present  in  consciousness.  These  rela- 
tions are:  (i)  difference,  and  (2)  similarity  or  partial 
sameness.  Whatever  these  various  states  are,  they 
are  known  as  different  from  one  another.  The  kind 
of  difference  that  they  possess  may  itself  vary  end- 
lessly. Colours  and  shades  differ  from  one  another  in 
the  field  of  our  visual  experiences.  Colours  differ  from 
odours,  as  we  observe  when  we  look  at  a  flower  and 
smell  it.  Mental  states  due  to  the  direct  disturbance 
of  our  organs  of  sense  differ  from  images  that  we 
can  observe  in  the  absence  of  objects.  Thoughts 
differ  from  one  another,  and  from  feelings  or  from 
decisions.      And    so    on    indefinitely.      All   variety   of 


GENERAL  FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS  LIFE  91 

which   we    are    to    be    conscious    involves    difference. 

^M.nd  the  experience  of  difference  is  amongst  the  most 

Sfundamental  of  the  facts  of  mental  life. 

Yet  difference  itself  is  never  found  as  a  relation 
between  two  facts  without  there  being  present  an- 
other relation  which  is  of  equally  fundamental  impor- 
tance. W/iefi  we  observe  that  one  fact  differs  fi'om 
aftothery  we  also  are  able  to  observe  that  these  tivo 
facts  havCy  as  we  say,  sonietJiing  ift  covimoii,  or  are 
similar  to  one  another.  Colours  differ  from  odours. 
But  both  the  colour  and  the  odour  of  a  rose  have  in 
common  the  features  that  enable  a  psychologist  to 
recognise  that  they  are  both  sensations.  The  mental 
image  that  I  can  form  of  my  friend's  face  when  he 
is  absent,  differs  from  the  mental  image  that  I  can 
form  of  the  sound  made  by  a  violin,  which  I  have 
heard  somebody  play.  Yet  if  I  have  both  images 
present  to  my  mind  at  once,  I  can  observe  that  they 
have  in  common  something  which  makes  me  call 
them  both  images.  Thus,  sameness  and  difference  are 
inseparable  characters.  Not  only  is  this  the  case  in 
the  most  general  sense,  but  in  special  instances  my 
consciousness  of  the  similarity  of  two  objects  that  are 
present  to  my  mind  helps  me  to  become  aware  of 
their  differences,  and  vice  versa ;  so  that  the  con- 
sciousness of  similarity  and  the  consciousness  of 
difference  are,  in  certain  cases  at  least,  mutually  sup- 
porting  facts    so   that    to    become    aware    of    one    of 


92  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

these  relations  helps  me  to  become  aware  of  the 
other.  Thus  I  can  readily  observe  the  difference 
between  right  and  left  as  directions,  because  I  am 
aware  of  their  similarity  as  being  both  of  them  direc- 
tions within  the  one  space  world  of  which  at  any 
moment  I  seem  to  be  conscious.  The  relation  of 
similarity  between  the  successive  chords  and  phrases 
of  a  musical  composition  helps  me  to  become  aware 
of  the  differences  present  in  the  musical  experience. 
In  the  effects  of  decorative  art  the  similarities 
present,  for  example,  the  symmetries,  help  me  to 
appreciate  more  definitely  and  pleasantly  those  dif- 
ferences of  experience  upon  which  the  decorative 
effect  depends.  On  the  other  hand,  in  so  far  as 
a  consciousness  of  difference  seems  to  be  present 
without  much  consciousness  of  similarity,  this  con- 
sciousness of  difference  itself  acquires  a  charac- 
teristically baffling  and  puzzling  effect,  so  that  I 
am  likely  to  say,  in  such  cases,  that  I  am  aware 
of  the  difference,  but  am  not  aware  wherein  the 
difference  lies.  Thus,  a  sudden  shock,  such  as  a 
thunder  clap,  an  explosion,  or  the  experience  of  the 
discharge  of  a  Leyden  jar  through  one's  organism, 
may  give  one  a  vague  consciousness  of  difference, 
whose  intensity  still  does  not  insure  any  clear  con- 
sciousness of  what  the  difference  is,  until,  at  the 
moment  when  we  recognise  the  nature  of  the  shock, 
we  come  to  possess  certain  conscious  states   that   are 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF   CONSCIOUS  LIFE  93 

not  only  different  from,  but  observably  similar  to, 
other  states. 

Thus  the  unity  of  present  consciousness  is  indeed 
diversified  by  differences.  But  these  differences  are 
never  without  greater  or  less  similarities  amongst  the 
different  states.  Where  the  similarities  afid  differences 
support  one  another,  so  that  we  become  aware  of  each 
by  means  of  the  other,  and  so  that  each  makes  the 
other  precise,  as  is  the  case  when  we  observe  the 
object  of  decorative  art,  or  the  musical  phrase,  then 
our  conscioiiS7iess  acquires  a  character  called  Clear- 
ness,—  a  character  which  must,  once  more,  be  experi- 
enced in  order  to  be  appreciated.  In  this  sense,  for 
instance,  an  object  upon  which  our  eyes  are  focussed 
is  seen  clearly;  or  a  series  of  sounds  that  are  not 
too  confusingly  mixed  with  other  sounds  are  heard 
clearly.  And  it  is  in  this  sense  that  the  beauty  of 
the  object  of  art  is  clearly  observable. 

It  is  worth  while  also  to  notice  that  the  Unity  and 
the  Variety  of  consciousness,  at  any  moment,  stand 
in  a  relation  to  one  another  that  may  be  also  called 
a  relation  of  similarity  and  difference.  For  the  unity 
of  this  present  instant  of  consciousness  is  itself  differ- 
ent from  the  variety  of  this  instant.  And  on  the 
other  hand,  the  unity  and  variety  are  similar  to  one 
another,  in  so  far  as  they  characterise  the  same  in- 
stant of  consciousness.  Meanwhile,  in  so  far  as  the 
relation   of    sameness   and    the   relation    of    difference 


94  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

are  considered  in  themselves,  it  appears  that  the 
sameness,  or  the  similarity,  of  the  various  conscious 
states  present  at  any  one  moment,  seems  to  bring 
these  states  rather  into  relation  to  the  unity  of 
consciousness,  while  the  differences  amongst  the  states 
seem  rather  to  relate  them  to  the   aspect  of  variety. 

§  38.  The  extremely  elementary  but  often  neg- 
lected facts  about  the  unity  of  consciousness  which 
have  thus  been  enumerated  have,  even  when  taken  by 
themselves,  a  very  important  practical  application.  If 
it  is  our  purpose  to  make  any  one^  as  for  instajice  a 
pupil,  clearly  conscious  of  some  kijid  of  dijference  be- 
tween facts,  we  carefully  choose  facts  that,  while  simi- 
lar to  07ie  another  in  as  many  other  ways  as  possible, 
clearly  manifest  just  this  particular  difference.  On  the 
other  ha7td,  if  we  wish  to  make  one  observe  a  similar- 
ity, as  happens  when  we  desire  to  illustrate  a  law  or  a 
type  or  a  class  of  facts,  we  carefully  present  diff credit 
instances  of  this  same  type ;  that  is,  we  illustrate  same- 
ness through  difference,  a7id  diffe^'ence  tJirough  same- 
ness. And  in  both  cases  zve  tend  to  succeed  in  proportion 
as  we  brijig  the  differences  and  the  samenesses  that  are 
to  be  studied  into  some  single  unity  of  conscious7tess, 
by  presenting  various  objects  at  ojice.  If  this  simple 
rule  is  neglected,  if  for  instance  one  merely  presents 
objects  with  a  view  to  their  arousing  the  effect  of 
difference,  as  when  one  tries  merely  to  surprise  a 
pupil  by  the  shock  of  startling  varieties,  one  produces 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF  CONSCIOUS    LIFE  95 

indeed  a  vague  consciousness  of  differences,  and  a 
consciousness  that,  even  in  the  worst  case,  is  sure  to 
be  attended  with  some  consciousness  of  similarity.  But 
this  consciousness  remains  uninstructive,  because  the 
similarities  and  differences  presented  are  7iot  so  arra?iged 
as  to  siippo7't  07ie  another.  If  on  the  other  hand, 
for  the  sake  of  making  one  aware  of  certain  similar- 
ities we  present  him  a  true  monotonous  series  of 
objects  in  which  no  difference  can  be  detected,  or  at 
least  no  interesting  difference,  we  tend  to  reduce  the 
pupil's  consciousness  to  the  lowest  level.  And 
in  so  far  we  fail  to  instruct  him.  The  rule  for  arous- 
ing the  kind  of  consciousness  to  which  the  teacher 
appeals  is  similar  to  the  rules  followed  in  the  decora- 
tive arts  or  in  music  :  present  similarities  and  differ- 
ences together  in  such  fashion  that  each  shall  support 
the  other.  Or,  expressing  the  rule  with  reference  to 
the  unity  of  consciousness  :  ai7n  to  secm-e  the  most 
complete  unity  of  consciousfiess  that  is  consistent  with  a 
desired  degree  of  variety  of  experience^  and  vice  versa. 
§  39.  But  we  now  come  to  another  aspect  of  the 
unity  of  consciousness,  and  to  one  which  the  fore- 
going account  of  the  "  stream  of  consciousness "  has 
inevitably  mentioned.  We  have  here  to  call  special 
attention  to  it  afresh.  The  ter^n  ^^  at  once,''  used  with 
refere?ice  to  the  unity  of  consciousness,  is  inevitably 
ambiguous.  We  always  appreciate  at  once  a  variety 
of   coexisting  or   of   contemporaneous  conscious  facts. 


96  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

We  also  experience  ''at  oicej'  but  in  another  sense  of 
the  term  ''at  once,''  a  brief  series  of  successive  conscious 
states.  As  above  stated,  our  consciousness  knows  noth- 
ing directly  of  an  indivisible  present  moment,  such  as 
physical  and  mathematical  theories  assume  to  occur  in 
time.  We  are  aware  at  once  of  more  than  one  succes- 
sive tone  or  chord  in  a  musical  sequence,  of  more  than 
one  stage  or  state  of  our  own  action,  when  we  are  per- 
forming some  rapid  series  of  deeds.  What  the  German 
psychologist,  Wilhelm  Stern,  has  called  the  "  psychical 
present  moment,"  what  Professor  James  has  called  "  the 
specious  present "  (herein  following  the  usage  of  sev- 
eral recent  English  writers),  is  no  infinitesimal  instant 
of  time,  but  always  has  an  appreciable  length,  somewhat 
more  than  the  tenth  of  a  second,  and  apparently  not 
longer  than  two  or  three  seconds.  The  length  of  this 
"  specious  present "  probably  varies  with  decidedly  com- 
plex conditions.  It  seems  to  be  longest  when  we  are 
following  the  succession  of  a  decidedly  regular  rhythmic 
process,  which  is  presented  to  our  consciousness  with 
the  most  favourable  degree  of  complexity  of  structure. 
It  seems  to  be  shortest  when  the  sequence  of  conscious 
facts  contains  a  rapid  series  of  distracting  differences, 
whose  similarities  we  fail  clearly  to  grasp.  What  occurs 
within  this  psychical  present  moment  is  known  to  us  in 
some  sense  as  one,  but  nevertheless  as  a  sequence,  which 
contains  within  it  successive  various  states,  of  which 
some   are   observed    to   precede,    while   others    follow. 


GENERAL   FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS  LIFE  97 

Every  consciousness  of  cJiaiige  depends  upoji  onr  power 
thus  to  observe  ^' at  once''  a  considerable^  althongh  also, 
from  a  larger  poi7it  of  view,  brief  sequence  of  mental 
states.  Now  it  is  in  following  such  a  sequence  of  states 
that  we  tend  to  become  especially  and  most  clearly- 
aware  of  the  differences  which  are  there  present.  The 
perception  of  sequence  aids  us  in  the  perception  of  differ- 
e7ice.  If  two  experiences  are  in  any  sense  coexistent, 
that  is,  if  their  causes  are  presented  to  me  at  the  same 
time,  I  may  fail  to  notice  the  difference  between  them. 
But  if  they  follow  one  after  another,  I  shall  be  much 
more  likely  to  note  the  fact  that  they  are  different,  in 
case  the  succession  is  immediate,  and  without  any  in- 
terval between.  Hence,  otir  discriminations,  ifi  a  great 
member  of  cases,  occur  iji  a  succession  of  acts.  This  fact 
has  great  and  obvious  practical  importance ;  and  it 
partly  explains  why  stories  interest  us  more  than 
mere  descriptions,  for  the  former  constantly  remind  us 
of  interesting  sequences. 

§  40.  The  foregoing  considerations  have  now  pre- 
pared us  to  face  a  problem  upon  which  modern  psy- 
chological writers  naturally  lay  great  stress.  This  is 
the  problem :  of  what  elements  does  our  mental  life 
consist  ?  and  in  what  sense  does  it  consist  of  elements 
at  all }  The  example  set  by  the  physical  sciences 
naturally  makes  many  psychologists  interested  in  re- 
ducing mental  Hfe,  at  the  outset  of  the  inquiry,  to  its 
simplest  elements,  just  as  the  physicist  and  the  chemist 

H 


98  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

reduce  complex  bodies,  first  to  the  relatively  simple 
aggregates  (such  as  solids,  liquids,  gases),  or,  in  chemis- 
try, to  the  chemical  elements  whereof  they  are  com- 
posed, and  then  to  the  hypothetical  molecules  or  atoms 
whereof  these  elements  are  constituted.  Such  analysis 
having  proved  so  useful  in  the  case  of  physical  phe- 
nomena, the  question  arises  whether  the  psychologist 
has  a  right  to  use  this  method.  As  a  fact,  this  method 
has  been  very  greatly  used  in  modern  psychology,  and 
with  very  important  results.  An  indication  of  the  na- 
ture both  of  the  processes  used  and  of  the  results 
reached,  is  necessary  in  order  that  we  should  be  able 
to  estimate  the  theoretical  and  practical  value  of  every 
such  procedure. 

When  we  look  at  an  object,  such  as  a  rose,  when  we 
touch  it,  and  inhale  its  odour,  we  plainly  have  a  complex 
mental  state;  that  is,  there  is  a  variety  within  the 
unity  of  our  consciousness.  Now  of  what  elements 
does  this  variety  consist .''  It  is  not  difficult  for  even  an 
untrained  introspection  to  detect  the  fact  that  our  total 
impression  of  the  rose  which  is  present  to  us  is  made 
up  of  the  conscious  seeing  of  colours,  of  the  conscious 
smelling  of  odours,  and  of  the  equally  conscious  impres- 
sions of  the  sense  of  touch.  Since  these  various  kinds 
of  conscious  states  are  obviously  due  to  the  external 
disturbance  of  our  sense  organs,  the  name  "sensation  " 
readily  suggests  itself  for  them.  In  addition  to  these 
sensations  we  have  also  a  feeling  of  pleasure  in  the 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  99 

rose.  In  addition,  the  rose  arouses  in  us  a  conscious- 
ness of  its  name,  and  gives  us  various  other  mental 
states  of  the  type  usually  called  "ideas"  or  "images." 
Our  consciousness  of  the  rose  thus  appears  to  be  a 
unity  of  all  these  elements.  But  a  further  analysis 
seems  to  show  that  all  of  these  states  are  themselves 
enormously  complex.  What  we  call  the  colour  of  a  rose 
is  an  experience  made  up  of  varieties  that  a  closer 
analysis  soon  begins  to  detect,  since  the  various  parts 
of  the  rose  do  not  give  us  exactly  the  same  kind  of 
visual  impression.  If  we  pursue  still  farther  such  an 
analysis,  by  appealing  to  what  can  be  discovered  more 
or  less  indirectly,  and  experimentally  regarding  the  rela- 
tion of  our  organ  of  vision  to  the  rose  that  we  see,  we 
seem  able  to  discover  that  various  portions  of  the  retina 
of  the  eye  are  receiving  sensory  irripressions,  any  one  of 
which,  if  it  were  alone,  would  produce  in  our  conscious- 
ness a  particular  sensation  of  colour,  which  we  should 
then  localise  at  some  one  point  of  the  visual  field.  It 
appears  hereupon  natural  to  say  that  our  total  impres- 
sion of  the  colour  of  the  rose  is  a  7ncntal  complex  of  via^iy 
different  sensatiojis,  no  one  of  which  we  do  experience 
alone,  but  every  one  of  which  must  be  present  as  a  con- 
stituent of  our  total  mental  state. 

But  now  we  indeed  cannot  by  direct  analysis  discover, 
in  our  total  impression  of  the  rose  at  the  moment  when 
its  colour  and  odour  impress  us,  of  precisely  what  ultimate 
elementary  sensations  all  the  impression  is  composed. 


100  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

For  only  indirectly,  by  experimental  devices,  can  we 
isolate  one  or  another  of  the  simplest  sensations  which 
any  one  smallest  sensible  portion  of  the  object,  that  is 
of  the  rose,  would  give  us,  if  that  portion  did  alone  act 
upon  our  sense  organs.  There  results  the  theory  that 
our  total  mental  state  is  not  only  a  unity  consisting  of 
various  conscious  facts  which  we  ourselves  can  by  more 
or  less  effort  directly  observe  within  this  unity,  but  is 
also  a  unity  consisting  of  certain  ultimate  sensations 
aiid  feeli7igs  that  we  cannot  ourselves  detect  except  in- 
directly^ tJirough  experime7its  which  isolate  such  elemefitSy 
and  which  bring  them  before  us  in  moments  of  con- 
sciousness when  the  original  total  impression  is  absent. 
Hereupon  we  may  be  led  to  declare  that  these  now 
isolated  elements  somehow  blended  to  form  the  total 
impression  that  then  we  had. 

§  41.  Generalising  somewhat  from  such  instances  as 
the  ones  just  used,  we  can  state  in  more  universal  terms 
the  theory'of  the  constitution  of  our  mental  life  which  is 
just  suggested  as  follows  :  At  any  moment  we  have 
a  total  mental  state  possessing  the  characteristic  unity 
of  consciousness.  This  state  we  may  call  T.  T  con- 
sists, as  we  have  already  said,  of  a  variety  of  mental 
life  which  we  can  by  direct  analysis  very  readily 
detect  as  present  in  the  total  condition.  Let  us  call 
the  elements  directly  observable  in  this  variety,  a,  b, 
Cy  d.  But  now,  according  to  the  present  theory,  each 
one  of  these  relatively  simple  mental  processes,  a^  by 


GENERAL   FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS  LlrE,  -J^f 

Cy  d,  is,  as  a  fact,  enormously  complex.  Thus  ^,  let 
us  say,  is  a  totality  of  the  sort  such  as  our  visual  image 
of  the  rose  when  we  remember  it,  or  our  visual  per- 
ception of  the  rose  when  we  see  it,  exemplifies.  But 
a  is  due  to  an  excitation,  of  sense  organs,  and  of  brain 
tracts,  or  of  brain  tracts  alone,  or  at  least  accompanies 
such  excitation.  Let  the  brain  centres,  excited  when  a 
comes  to  consciousness,  be  denominated  by  i,  2,  3, 
etc.  Through  experiments  of  the  nature  of  those 
already  indicated  we  can  in  many  cases  produce  an 
excitation  of  some  brain  centre  in  relative  isolation.  In 
such  cases  we  may  discover  that  this  excitation  is 
accompanied  with  a  conscious  process  s,  which  we  shall 
suppose  to  be  a  conscious  process  due  to  as  simple  a 
brain  process  as  we  can  hope  to  excite  in  any  relatively 
isolated  way.  A  similarly  isolated  excitement  of  the 
brain  process  which  we  have  called  2  would  produce 
another  conscious  process,  which  we  may  call  s'. 
The  conscious  states  s  and  s'  may  be  such  that  w/ie7t 
we  have  observed  them  in  isolation,  we  can  detect  an 
aspect  of  the  original  process  T,  namely,  of  our  whole 
mental  state,  which  we  may  regard  as  **  due  "  to  them, 
or  to  either  one  of  them.  We  may  proceed  in  a  similar 
fashion  to  isolate  conscious  elements  that  correspond 
to  those  oth6r  processes  in  the  brain,  which  form  parts 
of  the  original  total  brain  processes.  Isolations  of  this 
kind  we  can  carry  out  with  especial  success  in  cases 
where  we  are  dealing  with  conscious  states  due  to  the 


vci2  OUTI.INE^S   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

excitement  of  sense  organs.  With  somewhat  greater 
difficulty  we  can  approach  such  isolations  of  portions 
of  the  total  brain  processes  in  other  instances  also, 
namely,  in  case  of  brain  processes  that  have  to  do  with 
our  images  of  absent  objects,  and  also  in  some  other 
instances.  Where  such  processes  of  isolation  cannot 
be  actually  accomplished,  we  can  conceivjs  the^ 
possible.  / 

Since  every  complex  brain  disturbance  thus  consists 
of  processes  that  could  be  excited  in  relative  isolation, 
and  since  each  one  of  these  processes  may  be  con- 
ceived as  attended,  when  this  process  is  excited  alone, 
by  some  conscious  process  of  a  simple  nature,  and  of 
the  type  of  s,  in  the  instance  just  mentioned,  we  are, 
according  to  the  present  theory,  justified  in  asserting 
that  the  original  mental  state  T  consists  of  elements 
s,  s',  and  many  other  such  elements,  of  which  it  is  said 
to  be  made  up.  These  elements  may  escape  in  any 
single  instance  our  direct  analysis.  But  we  may^  con- 
ceive them  capable  of  isolation  by  some  such  process 
as  that  which  has  just  been  in  general  formulated.  If 
we  conceive  each  one  of  these  elements  of  the  type  of 
s  so  simple  that  no  further  analysis  of  this  element 
will  be  possible,  we  may  call  s,  for  the  purposes  of 
psychology,  an  absolutely  elementary  mental  state. 
The  theory  here  in  question  declares  that  all  conscious- 
ness is  made  up  of  such  elementary  states.  They  are 
said  to  *'  blend  "  together,  or  to  come  into  some  sort  of 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  1 03 

"  union,"  in  order  to  form  our  total  conscious  state  at 
any  moment.  The  task  of  psychology  is  declare^  to 
include  an  exhaustive  catalogue  of  these  elementary 
'mental  states,  and  then  a  further  examination  of  the 
laws  according  to  which  they  blend,  or  otherwise 
unite,  to  form  the  more  massive  states  of  consciousness 
which  we  directly  observe  to  be  present  at  any  moment. 
The  parallel  of  such  an  analysis  to  the  atomic  theory, 
as  the  latter  has  been  so  successfully  developed  in  mod- 
ern physical  and  chemical  science,  is  obvious. 

§  42.  But  the  present  theory  lays  claim  to  a  basis 
in  experience  which  has  been  frequently  denied  to  the 
atomic  theory,  as  the  latter  exists  in  chemistry.  For, 
as  a  general  rule,  the  mental  elements  of  which  the 
modern  psychologists  make  use  are  themselves  facts 
which  are  capable  of  being  observed  in  greater  or  less 
isolation  by  experimental  devices,  although  we  may  fail 
to  detect  these  elements  in  the  conscious  state  in  which 
they  are  said  to  etiter,  so  long  as  we  merely  look  to  the 
sort  of  analysis  which  we  can  ordinarily  make  of  con- 
sciousness at  any  one  instant.  It  is  psychological  ex- 
periment that  enables  us  to  get  elements  in  relative 
isolation,  and  also  to  show  that  they  correspond  to 
disturbances  of  sense  organs,  and  to  resulting  excita- 
tions of  brain,  which  we  can  prove  to  be  part  of  the 
physical  accompaniment  of  those  conscious  processes 
into  which  these  elements  are  said  to  enter.  Further- 
more, when  the  elements  have  once   been  isolated  by 


I04  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

experimental  devices,  it  very  generally  proves  to  be 
possible  to  detect  their  presence  within  conscious  states 
closely  similar  to  the  very  ones  in  which  it  was  at  first 
impossible  to  find  them.  At  all  events,  it  is  possible  by 
analysis  to  find,  in  our  total  conscious  state,  at  least 
traces  of  something  similar  to  the  isolated  elements, 
when  once  we  have  observed  the  latter.  It  is  true  that, 
even  then,  the  conscious  processes  in  which  we  find 
traces  of  the  elements  that  we  have  once  learned  to 
analyse,  through  the  experimental  devices  that  have 
given  us  these  elements  in  isolation,  are  processes 
which  occur  after  our  experiments  have  been  made  "i 
and  are  therefore  no  longer  identical  with  those  states 
of  our  naive  and  untrained  consciousness  in  which  we 
could  not  as  yet  discover  any  trace  of  these  elements 
by  any  effort  then  possible  to  us.  Nevertheless,  the 
theory  here  m  question  supposes  that  all  our  conscious 
processes^  even  the  ones  whose  elements  we  have  never 
learned  to  observe  in  isolation^  are  actually  composed 
of  such  elements.  And  because  of  the  experimental 
results  whose  nature  has  been  in  general  indicated, 
this  view  is  commonly  advanced  as  a  strictly  empirical 
conclusion. 

§  43.  A  few  further  examples  are  still  necessary  to 
illustrate  the  way  in  which  such  a  conclusion  comes  to 
appear  to  many  so  convincing.  When  the  unmusical 
person  hears  a  musical  chord,  or  listens  to  a  complex 
harmony,  he   is    unable,  in  general,  to  give   any  com- 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  105 

plete  account  of  the  elementary  tones  of  which  the 
harmonious  sounds  consist.  He  is  indeed  aware  of  a. 
certain  richness  in  the  whole  experience,  which  would 
enable  him  to  say  that  he  is  listening  to  something 
complex.  In  the  case  of  the  harmony  due  to  various 
instruments  or  voices,  he  is  more  or  less  able  to  distin- 
guish, as  he  Hstens,  what  belongs  to  each  instrument  or 
voice,  unless  indeed  the  voices  and  irvstruments  are 
numerous,  when  once  more  he  quickly  loses  his  power 
to  analyse.  The  musician,  accustomed  to  hear  voices, 
instruments,  and  single  tones,  in  isolation,  as  well  as  in 
harmonious  union,  analyses  at  pleasure  the  harmonious 
effect,  and  knows  that  the  sound  consists  of  a  certain 
collection  of  tones,  which  even  while  they  blend,  consti- 
tute for  him  still  a  distinguishable  collection.  But  physi- 
cal and  psychological  experiments  go  still  further  in 
the  analysis  of  tones  than  the  ordinary  musical  con- 
sciousness goes.  The  physical  disturbance  produced  by 
striking  a  single  key  on  the  piano  is  a  highly  complex, 
but  analysable,  system  of  sound  waves.  It  is  discovered 
that  the  more  elementary  constituents  of  which  this  sys- 
tem of  vibrations  consists  can  be  experimentally  isolated. 
In  this  case,  such  more  elementary  constituents  of  the 
total  physical  process,  when  they  are  isolated,  produce 
certain  sensations,  namely,  the  *'  partial  tones,"  of  which 
the  original  tone  is  consequently  said  to  consist.  When 
once  the  ear  has  been  trained,  by  listening  to  the  partial 
tones    in    isolation,  it  then  becomes   possible  for  con- 


I06  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

sciousness  to  discover,  by  analysis,  the  presence  of  these 
partial  tones  in  what  at  first  appeared  to  be  the  single 
tone  of  the  piano.  /;/  consequerice  the  theory  seems 
warranted  that  the  original  tone,  viewed  as  a  conscious 
state,  was  not  simple,  but  was  a  blending  of  various 
elementary  states,  corresponding  to  the  so-called  funda- 
mental tone  which  determines  the  pitch  of  the  note 
that  the  untrained  ear  hears,  and  to  the  various  **  partial 
tones,"  which  sound  along  with  the  fundamental  tone, 
and  which  constitute  part  of  the  total  physical  process 
upon  which  our  original  hearing  of  the  tone  depends. 
It  seems,  at  first  sight,  that  we  here  have  an  empirical 
proof  of  how  a  mental  state  which  seems  to  the  itntrained 
consciousness  simple,  actually  consists  of  many  mental 
elements. 

In  a  very  different  field  we  meet  with  a  correspond- 
ing analysis  of  a  complex  mental  state,  in  case  of  what 
has  been  called  the  "feeling  of  effort,"  which  we 
observe  when  we  make  a  movement  requiring  a  consid- 
erable exertion  of  energy.  Our  ordinary  consciousness 
does  indeed  indicate  that  this  "  feeUng  of  effort  "  is 
a  complicated  state.  But  processes  of  isolation  of  the 
kind  already  illustrated  gradually  bring  us  to  observe 
that  such  a  "feeling  of  effort"  is  a  complex  state 
possessing  a  decidedly  discoverable  constitution,  and 
due  to  various  sensory  disturbances  produced  by  the 
contraction  of  our  muscles,  by  the  rubbing  of  our  joint 
surfaces  together,  by  stretching  and  pressure,  occurring 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  107 

in  skin,  tendons,  etc.,  or  finally  to  mental  images  sug- 
gested to  us  by  the  results  of  former  sensory  expe- 
rienceiof  just  this  kind.  The  "feeling  of  effort"  is 
consequently  said  by  the  present  theory  to  consist  of 
mental  ele7nents  corresponding  to  these  various  elementary 
excitations. 

§  44.  So  much  must  suffice  as  a  general  indication 
of  the  theory  of  the  structure  of  consciousness  here  in 
question.  No  one  can  doubt  the  importance  of  the  ex- 
perimental evidence  upon  which  it  is  based.  And  no 
one  can  doubt  that  this  importance  is  partly  a  matter 
of  psychological  concern.  We  do  gain  a  great  deal 
for  the  understanding  of  our  conscious  processes  when 
we  discover  that  they  accompany  physical  processes 
whose  complex  structure  can  be  studied,  and  whose 
more  elementary  constituents  can  be  analysed.  We 
gain  also  when  we  learn  that  these  more  elementary 
physical  processes  can  be  found  to  be  accompanied, 
when  once  they  are  isolated,  by  certain  simpler  mental 
states.  We  also  advance  in  insight  when  we  learn 
that,  when  once  our  powers  of  analysis  have  been 
trained,  we  can  detect  the  traces  of  such  simpler 
states  in  the  massive  states  of  consciousness  with 
which  we  began,  although  these  massive  states  at 
first  seemed  to  defy  any  minute  analysis.  On  the 
other  hand,  it  may  well  be  questioned  whether  these 
results  of  experience  are  rightly  interpreted  by  the 
theory   that   we    have    just    been    summarising.     Con- 


I08  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

sciousness,  as  we  have  already  said,  is  not  a  show^ 
of  shot.  //  does  not  come  to  us  as  consisting  of  t/fese 
elementary  states.  When  what  is  called  the  "  ar^aly- 
sis  "  of  the  original  unity  of  consciousness  takes  place 
through  these  devices  of  isolation,  and  through  a  com- 
parison of  the  results  of  isolation  with  the  complex 
mental  states  that  we  produce  after  studying  the  iso- 
lated elements,  for  the  sake  of  verifying  the  results 
of  our  "analysis,"  then  what  is  "analysed"  is  not  the 
original  naive  consciousness ^  which  was  whatever  it  was 
foinid  to  be  at  the  time  when  it  occurred4  On  the  con- 
trary, what  we  "  analyse  "  is  ^  new  sort  of  consciousness 
that  takes  the  place  of  our  original  and  naiVe  con- 
sciousness —  a  more  sophisticated  consciousness,  so  to 
speak.  Now  the  psychologist  is  indeed  equally  inter- 
ested both  in  naiVe  and  in  sophisticated  conscious- 
ness. But  whatever  the  relations  between  the  two 
may  be,  he  is  not  justified  in  asserting  of  the  na'fve 
consciousness  that  it  already  possesses  the  structure 
which  experimentally  trained  analysis  can  learn  to  find 
in  the  more  sophisticated  consciousness. 

Whoever  hears  the  chord  and  does  not  analyse  it, 
has  heard  a  certain  whole  in  which  he  simply  did  not 
detect  parts  such  as  the  later  analysis  detects  in  the 
chords  that  it  examines.  Now  a  state  of  conscious- 
ness exists  when  somebody  is  conscious  of  that  state. 
When  nobody  is  conscious  of  that  state,  it  does  not 
exist.     When  the  musician  observes  the  chord  to  be 


GENERAL   FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  109 

an  unity  wherein  he  finds  an  actually  conscious  and 
analysed  variety,  he  finds  what  he  finds.  But  what 
he  finds  is  simply  not  present  in  the  consciousness  of 
the  unmusical  listener.  The  elements  that  analysis  de- 
tects exist,  as  conscious  states,  when  they  are  detected 
and  not  before.  Not  only  is  this  true  of  the  elements 
that  can  be  isolated  only  by  careful  experiment  or  by 
means  of  technical  training.  It  holds  also  of  those 
elements  which  we  can  either  find  or  not  in  a  given 
present  conscious  state,  according  as  we  do  or  do  not 
choose  to  attend  to  them.  As  has  been  said,  we 
always  observe  in  any  conscious  state  unity  and  mul- 
tiplicity. But  the  conscious  state  contains  exactly 
such  multiplicity  as  we  do  observe.  The  multiplicity 
that  we  might  observe,  and  do  not  observe,  belongs  to 
a  possible  mental  state  which,  at  the  moment  of  our 
failure  to  observe,  we  do  not  possess. 

It  now  seems  to  us,  therefore,  wrong  to  say  that  a 
mental  state  consists  at  any  time  of  elements  which 
we  ourselves  do  not  distinguish  in  that  state.  When 
we  assert  that  these  elements  are  nevertheless  there, 
although  they  are  not  distinguished,  we  are  consider- 
ing not  the  mental  state  itself,  but  either  what  we 
know  about  the  complex  external  physical  object  of 
which,  we  suppose  this  mental  state  to  be  the  sign; 
or  else  what  we  know  about  the  state  of  the  brain  ; 
or  again  what  we  know  about  the  meaning  of  this 
mental  state,  when   the  latter  is  regarded    as  a  stage 


no  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

in  a  logically  or  morally  significant  process;  or  else, 
finally,  we  are  referring  to  a  more  sophisticated  state 
of  mind  which  the  psychologist,  by  his  devices  for 
analysis,  has  substituted  for  the  original  and  naive 
consciousness.  The  physical  world  contains  countless 
aspects  that  at  any  moment  we  might  observe,  but  do 
not.  If  this  physical  world  is  viewed  as  the  object  of 
which  at  any  moment  our  consciousness  is  showing 
us  some  aspect,  we  can  indeed  quite  correctly  say  that 
our  consciousness  fails  to  obsej've  the  elements  of  which 
its  physical  object  all  the  time  consists.  In  a  similar 
fashion,  a  complex  brain  process  consists  of  elemen- 
tary processes.  And  just  so  every  state  of  conscious- 
ness that  we  have  is  also  a  stage  in  a  mental  process 
that  in  the  whole  of  our  lives  has  a  very  rich  mean- 
ing. Of  this  yeaning  we  may  become  conscious 
afresh  from  various  and  countless  points  of  view. 
We  may  accordingly  quite  rightly  say  that  any  con- 
scious state  means  a  great  deal  of  which  we  are  just 
then,  not  conscious.  If,  by  analysis,  we  can  detect 
something  of  this  meaning,  we  can  then  say  that  what 
our  analysis  discovers  was  present,  as  a  uieajiingy  in 
the  state  that  we  did  not  analyse.  But  the  concept 
of  the  psychological  element,  present  when  it  is  not 
observed,  but  constitutive,  along  with  other  elements, 
of  the  mental  state  in  which  it  was  not  observed,  is  a 
conception  neither  of  a  physical  fact  nor  of  a  moral 
or  logical   or  aesthetic  meaning.      Such  elements   are 


GENERAL    FEATURES   OF   CONSCIOUS   LIFE  in 

found  only  in  those  states  of  mind  which  result  from 
habits  of  analysis. 

If  the  musician  says  to  the  unmusical  man,  "  You 
heard  the  chord ;  and,  as  a  fact  of  your  consciousness 
that  chord  was  composed  of  these  tones ;  yet  of  these 
tones  you  were  not  conscious,"  we  can  understand  what 
the  musician  means  if  he  intends  to  say  something 
about  the  physical  constitution  of  the  sound-vibra- 
tion. We  also  can  easily  understand  him  if  he  means 
to  say  something  about  the  constitution  of  the  process 
in  the  sense  organ  or  in  the  brain  centres  of  the  one 
who  heard  the  tone.  And  we  can  well  understand 
his  meaning  if  he  intends  to  say  something  about 
the  musically  valuable  fact,  if  for  instance  he  implies 
something  of  this  sort  "  the  aesthetic  reason  why  that 
chord  was  so  rich  to  you  or  so  beautiful  depended 
upon  the  fact  that  it  had  this  constitution."  In  this 
last  case  the  musician  may  be  analysing  not  so  much 
the  physical  or  the  neurological  complexity  of  the 
processes  concerned,  as  the  meaning  which  the  whole 
state  had  for  the  one  who  admired  the  chord,  but 
who  did  not  analyse  it.  But  if  the  musician  persists 
in  saying  "the  chord  as  a  conscious  fact  consisted 
for  you  of  mental  states  corresponding  to  its  various 
constituent  tones,  but  you  are  not  aware  of  these 
mental  states,  because  they  blended  into  the  one  total 
impression,"  then  indeed  the  musician  seems  to  be 
asserting  the  existence  of  a  mental  state  which  was  not 


112  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

the  mental  state  of  anybody  —  not  of  the  musician, 
since  he  analyses  the  chord,  nor  of  the  unmusical 
man,  since  the  supposed  element  finds  no  place  in 
his  consciousness  that  he  himself,  for  whom  alone 
his  mental   facts  can  exist,  is  capable  of  observing. 

§  45.  But  what  from  this  point  of  view,  as  one  may 
insist,  becomes  of  the  vast  body  of  empirical  evidence 
whose  existence  we  before  admitted  ?  We  answer  (as 
the  just  cited  case  of  the  musical  and  the  unmusical 
experience  indicates)  :  All  this  evidence  exists  indeed, 
but  it  does  not  prove  that  our  consciousness  consists  of 
any  other  elements  than  of  those  which  we  at  any  time 
observe  as  the  variety  present  within  its  unity.  Our 
consciousness  is  what  we  find  it  to  be.  What  the 
psychologists  can  tell  us  about  it  must  consist,  first,  of 
(  a  more  careful  restatement  and  generalisation  of  the 
[  characters  that,  upon  various  occasions,  various  human 
Vjjeings  actually  find  there.  It  is  the  business  of  the 
psychologists  to  note  what  the  ordinary  consciousness 
forgets,  namely,  the  various  observations  which  we  can 
from  time  to  time  make,  or  do  from  time  to  time  make, 
upon  the  contents  of  consciousness.  And  now,  second, 
it  is  the  business  of  the  psychologists  to  discover  what 
ordinary  observation  altogether  ignores,  or  at  best  only 
Mragmentarily  notices,  namely,  the  sequence  and  con- 
nection of  our  successive  mental  states.  And,  third,  it 
is  indeed  a  very  important  part  of  the  psychologists' 
task  to  discover  the  laws  that  govern  these  sequences, 


IS 


GENERAL  FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  113 

and  their  relation  to  their  physical  accompaniments  an 
conditions.  It  is  especially  in  connection  with  this  last 
great  task  of  the  psychologists  that  the  experimental 
facts,  which  are  usually  supposed  to  prove  the  ex- 
istence of  mental  elements,  find  their  true  place  and 
significance. 

What  these  empirical  evidences  do  show  \%  first,  tJie 
relation  of  our  conscious  states  to  their  pJiysical  accom- 
paniments and  conditions.  One  of  the  most  important 
of  these  relations  is  statable  in  the  following  terms  : 
when  zve  have  a  conscious  state  ivhich  as  a  fact  we  do 
not  analyse  or  discover  to  be  various  i^i  its  constitution 
beyond  a  certain  point,  this  mental  state  is  in  general 
dependent  upon  very  complex  physical  conditions.  These 
physical  conditions  are  in  large  measure  due  to  stimu- 
lations of  our  sense  organs.  They  are  also  in  large 
measure  due  to  such  central  brain  disturbances  as  are 
only  indirectly  connected  with  our  sense  organs.  Now 
these  complex  physical  conditions  are  capable,  in  many 
cases,  of  being  excited  in  relative  isolation.  When  this 
occurs  we  very  generally  find  what  has  been  already 
reported,  namely,  that  to  the  elemoitary  and  more  or  less 
completely  isolated  physical  distiwbance,  tJiere  corresponds 
a  relatively  simple  mental  state.  So  much  then  for  the 
thus  discovered  relations  of  mental  and  of  cerebral 
processes.  ^ ^  fiwther  discover  that  if  we  get  again  a 
total  mental  state  as  similar  as  possible  to  the  one  whicJi 

before  we  did  not  analyse  (for    example,  if   we    strike 
I 


114  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

again  the  same  musical  chord  after  having  experienced 
one  of  its  elements  in  isolation)  we  can  then^  in  a  very 
large  number  of  cases,  detect  in  the  renewed  mental  state 
the  elements  which  we  have  observed  in  isolation,  and 
which  we  did  not  observe  ifi  the  origifial  state.  In  brief, 
by  devices  of  this  sort  we  can  learn  to  siibsiitiite 
analysed  mental  states  for  una^ialysed  mental  states.  ^ 
Since  we  can  conceive  this  process  of  substitution 
carried  much  farther  than  our  experimental  processes 
have  carried  it  at  any  particular  stage  of  the  process, 
we  can  form  upon  good  empirical  grounds  a  general 
theory  of  the  type  thus  expressed  :  To  every  imanalysed 
mental  state  there  may  be  made  to  correspond  an  analys- 
able  merital  state,  or,  in  case  of  actual  success,  an  actually 
aftalysed  mental  state.  The  physical  conditions  of  the 
new  state  agree  in  the  main  with  the  conditions  of 
the  original  mental  state,  except  in  so  far  as  these 
conditions  include  such  habits  of  brain  as  have  been 
acquired  by  the  intervening  experiments,  or  by  other 
analytic  devices.  The  mental  expression  of  these 
habits  is  the  habit  of  analysis  itself.  In  the  analysed 
mental  state  the  variety  that  consciousness  detects 
corresponds  to  a  variety  that  may  also  be  discovered 
in  the  physical  or  physiological  conditions,  both  of  the 

1  This  substitution  is  not  possible  in  all  cases  where  an  analysis  of  the 
physical  disturbance  into  simpler  physical  disturbances  is  possible,  e.g.  in 
case  of  the  colours  of  mixed  light.  But  the  remark  in  the  text  is  true  of  a 
large  class  of  cases. 


GENERAL   FEATURES  OF  CONSCIOUS   LIFE  1 15 

original  mental  state,  and  of  the  analysed  mental  state. 
This  is  the  summary  of  the  empirical  facts.  The  facts 
are  important  because  they  enable  us  to  learn  what  we 
should  otherwise  miss  concerning  the  constitution  of 
the  physical  conditions  upon  which  both  our  analysed 
and  our  unanalysed  mental  states  depend.  Further- 
more, the  whole  series  of  phenomena  shows  an  inter- 
esting and  uniform  connectioii  between  analysed  and 
ufianalysed  mental  states.  Since,  as  we  shall  see,  the 
whole  development  of  our  intelUgent  life  involves  an  in- 
creasing differentiatioii  of  our  vic7ital power's^  it  becomes 
of  the  utmost  importance  to  understand  the  conditions 
upon  which  such  differentiation  depends.  The  experi- 
mental processes  that  we  have  summarised  form  an 
invaluable  contribution  to  this  knowledge.  TJiey  show 
us  by  experifneftt  how  consciojcsjtess  becomes  diffe^rntiatedy 
in  other  words,  how  a  most  important  aspect  of  7nental 
growth  takes  place. 

§  46.  Finally,  if  we  choose  another  way  of  sum- 
marising these  same  facts,  we  may  indeed  say  that 
since,  in  so  many  cases,  an  analysed  state  of  conscious- 
ness can  be  made  to  correspond  to  a  previous  unana- 
lysed state  in  the  way  pointed  out,  and  since,  where 
this  process  is  not  carried  out,  we  have  good  reasons 
to  conceive  it  possible,  we  may  declare  that  every  state 
of  consciousness  which  is  due  to  a  complex  collection 
of  sensory  and  central  processes  may,  when  viewed 
with  reference  to  its  physical  conditions,  be  treated  as 


Il6  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

if  it  were  complex  of  mental  elements  corresponding 
to  certain  more  elementary  physical  processes,  such 
that  these  more  elementary  processes,  when  isolated, 
are  capable  of  producing  elementary  mental  states, 
and  such  that  these  elementary  states  can  be  found 
by  our  attention  as  constituents  of  analysed  states  of 
consciousness.  But  when  we  use  this  mode  of  expres- 
sion, we  must  remember  that  we  are  employing  a  con- 
venient fiction.  The  mental  state  presented  to  the  naive 
consciousness  is  just  then  what  it  seems  to  be,  and  is, 
literally  speaking,  no  more  various  than  at  the  moment 
we  find  it  to  be.  It  can  be  treated  as  if  it  were  com- 
posed of  elements  that  we  do  not  analyse,  only  in  so 
far  as  we  compare  it  in  the  before-mentioned  way  with 
the  analysed  mental  states  that  correspond  to  it  when- 
ever our  habits  of  analysis  have  been  formed,  and  when 
we  consider  it  with  reference  to  its  physical  and  physio- 
logical conditions. 

That  other  way  of  analysing  mental  states  which 
has  been  mentioned  in  the  course  of  the  foregoing  dis- 
cussion—  that  way  of  analysing  the  meaning  which 
they  possess  in  the  logical  or  in  the  otherwise  signifi- 
cant context  of  our  mental  life  —  does  not  concern  the 
psychologist.  The  logician,  the  metaphysician,  the 
moralist,  and  the  student  of  aesthetics,  are  interested  in 
the  meaning  of  mental  life.  The  psychologist  is  inter- 
ested, first,  in  what  is  literally  present  to  consciousness 
at  any  one  moment;    second,  in  the  various  series  or 


GENERAL   FEATURES   OF  CONSCIOUS  LIFE  II7 

successions  of  mental  states  that  are  discoverable ;  and 
third,  in  the  laws  which  govern  both  these  processes 
and  the  physical  condition  upon  which  they  depend. 
For  the  psychologist,  therefore,  the  complex  meaning 
which  every  mental  state  undoubtedly  possesses  may 
indeed  be  infinite,  but  is  not  relevant. 


§  47.  We  have  now  considered  the  general  charac- 
teristics of  consciousness,  and  have  also  in  the  most 
general  outlines  indicated  its  relation  to  its  external 
conditions,  and  cerebral  accompaniments;  and  in  the 
remainder  of  our  discussion  our  task  will  fall  into  the 
following  principal  divisions  :  — 

(i)  We  shall  make  a  summary  statement  of  the  prin- 
cipal kinds  of  states  of  consciousness  that  occur  within 
the  range  of  our  psychological  experience ;  and  we 
shall  consider  these  with  especial  relations  to  the  sorts 
of  physical  conditions  upon  which  they  depend.  Since 
states  of  consciousness  take  place  from  moment  to 
moment  in  connection  with  the  present  state  of  the 
organism,  and  since  in  consequence  all  consciousness, 
at  the  moment  when  it  takes  place,  may  be  regarded 
as  an  accompaniment  of  the  responses  of  our  sensitive 
organism  to  the  world  in  which  it  exists,  we  may  regard 
all  this  first  division  of  our  task  as  A  Study  of  Sensi- 
tiveness. This  study  will  contain  three  subdivisions, 
the  first  dealing  with  our    Sensory    Experience,  the 


Il8  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

second   with    our    Images,   the    thh"d   with  our   Feel- 
ings. 

(2)  Having  become  better  acquainted,  in  this  way, 
with  the  contents  of  consciousness  as  it  passes,  we 
shall  next  proceed  in  a  series  of  chapters  to  a  study  of 
the  relations  that  bind  the  consciousness  of  any  mo- 
ment to  previous  experience.  This  division  of  our 
discussion  may  be  regarded  as  A  Study  of  Docility. 

(3)  Since,  as  we  saw  before,  our  mental  states  not 
only  appear  to  be  dependent  upon  our  relations  to 
past  experience,  but  also  to  depend  upon  factors  that 
make  possible  that  kind  of  variation  of  our  conduct, 
and  of  our  mental  processes,  which  we  sketched  in  one 
section  of  our  discussion  of  the  signs  of  mental  life,  we 
shall  need  to  include  under  a  third  head  a  very  sum- 
mary chapter  which  we  may  entitle.  The  Conditions 
OF  Mental  Initiative. 


CHAPTER  V 

Sensitiveness 

a.   sensory  experience 

§  48.  It  is  customary,  in  modern  text-books  of  psy- 
chology, to  introduce  the  study  of  all  the  higher  forms 
of  mental  life  by  a  statement  of  the  results  which 
experimental  research  has  now  reached  regarding 
what  arfe  called  the  sensations.  The  term  ''  sensation  " 
is  one  employed,  in  its  usual  modern  usage,  in  connec- 
tion with  that  theory  of  the  real  existence  of  mental 
elements  to  which  we  have  already  devoted  some 
attention.  For  the  theory  in  question  a  sensation 
is  an  elementary  mental  state  that  is  due,  either  to 
the  direct  excitement  of  some  sense  organ  and  of 
the  corresponding  brain  centre,  or  to  some  central 
brain  process  that  may  be  regarded  as  equivalent  to 
a  disturbance  produced  through  a  sense  organ.  It  is 
essential  to  the  concept  of  a  sensation,  from  this  point 
of  view,  that  a  sensation  should  be  an  ideally  simple 
state.  So  far  as  the  present  state  of  our  consciousness 
is   directly   due   to   the   excitement   of   our   organs   of 

-  .  sense,  otir  consciousness  is  considered,  by  the  theory  in 
i^j;      question,  as  a  complex  consistifig  of  such  ele7nentary  scn- 

•"      satio)is.      In  so  far  as  our  present  consciousness  con- 


120  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

sists  of  images  of  objects  that  are  not  now  physically 
present  to  ns,  it  is  said  by  the  theory  in  question  to  be 
made  up  of  elementary  states  which  may  be  cine  to,  or 
zvhich  perhaps  must  be  due  to,  former  sensations.  In 
any  case,  these  elementary  states,  as  they  at  present 
occur, — the  elementary  mental  states,  namely,  of  which 
our  images  of  absent  objects  consist,  or  of  which 
in  general  our  "ideas"  are  said  to  be  composed, — 
are  regarded  by  many  recent  psychologists  as  composed 
of  elements  which  do  not  differ  in  any  essential  charac- 
ter from  sensations.  They  are  said  to  be  "  faint  sen- 
sations." Or  again  they  are  called  "  centrally  aroused 
sensations,"  so  that  they  are  often  regarded  not  merely 
as  being  due  to  former  sensations,  but  as  being  even 
at  present  of  the  nature  of  sensations. 

On  the  basis  of  such  a  theory,  the  concept  of  a  sen- 
sation becomes  one  of  the  most  fundamental  impor- 
tance for  all  descriptive  psychology.  The  only  other 
sorts  of  elementary  mental  states  which  such  views 
commonly  recognise  are  the  elementary  states  called 
"feelings."  Apart  from  the  feelings,  our  present 
consciousness  is  regarded  by  such  theories  as  entirely 
made  up  of  the  elements  called  sensations. 

§  49.  Our  own  attitude  toward  theories  of  this  type 
has  already  been  indicated.  In  what  sense  conscious- 
ness can  be  said  to  be  composed  of  any  elementary 
states  we  have  indicated,  in  so  far  as  such  indication 
is,  in  my  opinion,  possible.     As  we  shall  now  have  to 


\ 


SENSITIVENESS  — SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  12 1 

see  more  in  detail,  all  our  present  consciousness,  of 
whatever  type,  is  accompanied  by  central  disturbances 
of  the  brain,  which  are  either  directly  due  to  the  ex- 
citements of  our  sense  organs,  or  are  of  a  type  essen- 
tially similar  to  the  disturbances  which  are  due  to  the 
sense  organs.  In  consequence,  it  is  literally  true  for 
the  psychologist  that  all  consciousness,  when  it  occurs'x 
and  whatever  else  it  implies  or  contains,  is  a  manifest  a- -^ 
tion  of  present  sensitiveness,  that  is  of  the  fact  that  our 
organism  is  disturbed  by  external  or  internal  stimula- 
tions, and  of  the  fact  that  these  disturbances  reach  the 
cortex  of  the  brain.  It  is  also  unquestionably  true  that 
every  present  excitement  of  the  brain  consists  of  pro- 
cesses which  can  be  more  or  less  perfectly  resolved 
by  experimental  analysis  into  elementary  processes, 
such  as  can  occur  in  relative  isolation ;  and  of  these 
elementary  processes  there  are  a  good  many  which, 
when  excited  in  such  relative  isolation,  are  attended 
by  relatively  simple  mental  states.  All  this  has  been 
illustrated  in  the  foregoing  discussion,  for  example, 
by  the  case  of  musical  chords  and  tones.  But  we  can- 
not say  that  our  consciousness  in  any  literal  sense  con- 
sists of  sensations,  and  still  less  that  it  consists  of 
absolutely  elementary  sensations.  Nor  would  the 
statement  become  true  if  we  merely  added  the  word 
"feeling"  to  the  word  "sensation."  On  the  other 
hand,  since  our  consciousness  may  thus  be  unquestion- 
ably described  as  an  accompaniment  of   the  sensitive- 


N.J 


122  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

ness  of  our  organism,  and  since  this  sensitiveness  of 
our  organism  is  something  very  complex,  and  since 
its  various  modes  can  be  more  or  less  completely  ana- 
lysed, considerable  light  is  thrown  upon  the  relation 
of  consciousness,  both  to  its  conditions  and  to  our  own 
habits  of  conscious  analysis,  when  we  examine  as  pre- 
cisely as  the  modern  experimental  study  of  sensation 
does,  the  various  relatively  simple  states  of  mind  that 
can  be  produced  in  response  to  relatively  simple  stimula- 
jtions  of  our  sense  organs. 

§  50.  From  our  point  of  view,  then,  a  sensation  may 
be^iiefined  as  a  relatively  simple  mental  state^  which  we 
can  by  experiment  more  or  less  completely  isolate,  and 
which,  wheji  isolated,  is  foimd  to  be  due  to  a  relatively 
simple  stimulation  of  braiji  cefitres,  either  through  the 
sense  organs  or  through  the  revival  of  dispositions 
which  previous  sense  disturbance  has  left  in  the  brain 
centres.  The  relation  of  sensations  to  our  actual 
consciousness,  as  it  from  moment  to  moment  occurs,  is 
the  one  formerly  pointed  out,  namely,  that  to  every 
present  conscious  state  there  may  be  made  to  corre- 
spond a  mental  state,  or  a  collection  of  mental  states 
which  through  training  we  have  learned  to  analyse,  and 
that,  in  these  analysed  mental  states,  elements,  corre- 
sponding to  what  we  have  called  sensations,  will  be 
found  to  be  prominent.  To  discover  this  principle  is 
to  show  how  largely  our  conscious  state  at  any  moment, 
however  lofty  its  dignity,  or   however  unanalysable  it 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  123 

then  may  seem,  is  actually  due  to  conditions  that  ac- 
company the  excitement  of  our  sense  organs  in  de- 
terminate fashion. 

§  51.  The  general  relations  between  our  sense  organs 
and  the  conscious  present  moments  of  our  lives  may  be 
briefly  summarised  as  follows  :  —  In  our  normal  waking 
life  every  conscious  process,  of  whatever  grade,  may  be 
said  to  be  supported  by  sensory  stimuli ;  that  is,  ou^-  con- 
sciousness accompanies  central  nervous  processes  that 
depend  upon  the  current  stimulation  of  sense  organs. 
On  the  other  hand,  every  conscious  process  of  normal 
waking  life  accompanies  nervous  processes  that  at  least 
tend  to  produce  more  or  less  definite  movements,  and 
that,  if  not  controlled  through  inhibitory  processes, 
actually  do  so.  A  process  of  high  intellectual  level, 
such  as  writing,  obviously  illustrates  this  general 
principle.  The  conscious  processes  that  occur  when 
we  write  are  in  their  most  essential  features  inseparable 
from  the  sensory  stimuli  that  we  receive  as  we  write, 
and  from  the  movements  that  constitute  the  writing 
process  itself.  But  the  same  holds  true  of  mental 
activities  that  do  not  so  obviously  express  themselves 
without  in  characteristic  movements,  and  that  are  gen- 
erally supposed  to  be  mainly  independent  of  our 
momentary  relations  to  the  outer  world.  The  most 
absorbed  meditation  is  affected  by  the  sensory  stimuli 
that  we  are  receiving.  This  is  shown  by  our  well- 
known  preference  for  certain  places,  surroundings,  or 


124  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

objects,  as  aids  to  our  meditations.  One  carries  on  a 
meditation  of  a  given  type  best  in  his  study,  or  again 
best  in  church,  or  again  by  preference  during  a  walk  in 
the  fields.  At  such  times  one  may  not  be  at  all  directly 
conscious  of  how  one's  inner  process  is  related  to  the 
sensory  stimuH.  Thus,  in  the  fields,  one  may  suppose 
that  one  is  entirely  oblivious  of  the  natural  facts  about 
one,  just  because  one  is  absorbed  in  some  train  of 
thought  that  bears  on  a  scientific  topic,  or  on  a  personal 
and  practical  problem.  But  none  the  less,  the  external 
objects  are  all  the  time  sending  in  their  sensory  dis- 
turbances. These  maintain  certain  current  conditions 
of  the  brain.  Were  these  conditions  to  change,  the 
train  of  thought  would  change.  And  even  where  the 
connection  between  surrounding  objects  and  the  train  of' 
thought  pursued  is  by  no  means  one  of  which  we  are 
definitely  conscious,  the  just  mentioned  preference  for 
one  sort  of  surrounding  as  against  another,  as  the  place 
for  a  given  kind  of  meditation,  illustrates  how  important 
this  relation  may  be. 

It  is  true  that,  for  the  purpose  of  supporting  certain 
kinds  of  inner  life,  it  is  customary  to  cut  off  certain 
sensory  stimuli.  And  while  this  is  in  obvious  accord- 
ance with  the  principle  here  in  question,  it  is  also  true 
that  in  certain  cases  the  process  may  go  so  far  as  to 
make  it  appear  as  if  the  exclusion  of  sensation  alto- 
gether, or  as  far  as  possible,  is  the  device  most  useful 
for  supporting  sonie  processes  of  meditation,  or  some 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  1 25 

phases  of  what  is  often  called  the  "interior  life."  Thus, 
religious  meditation  has  often  been  supported  by  de- 
vices which  include  solitude,  going  "  into  the  closet  and 
shutting  the  door,"  and  the  effort  to  obtain  silence  in 
one's  surroundings.  Mystics  and  ascetics  have  carried 
such  processes  of  exclusion  of  external  sensory  disturb- 
ances very  far ;  and  have  often  supposed  them  to  prove 
that  certain  aspects  of  the  higher  life  are  dependent 
upon  the  exclusion,  rather  than  upon  the  support,  of 
any  sensory  stimuli. 

But  the  psychologist  is  obliged  to  note  that  all  such 
processes  of  excluding  certain  sensory  stimuli,  are  sim- 
ply devices  for  the  securing  of  the  presence  of  other 
sensory  stimuli.  When  the  eyes  are  closed,  we  still 
have  a  visual  experience,  that  of  the  darkness  of  the 
field  of  vision  —  an  experience  of  a  distinctly  sensory 
character,  due  to  the  remaining  activities  of  the  retina 
of  the  eye.  If  silence  is  obtained  so  far  as  external 
sounds  are  concerned,  one  may  all  the  more  hear 
sounds  due  to  the  circulation  of  the  blood.  To  sup- 
press the  disturbances  of  the  usually  more  prominent 
types,  means  all  the  more  to  emphasise  those  masses 
of  sensory  disturbance  which  are  due  to  our  internal 
organs.  The  importance  that  instinct  or  habit  may 
give  to  these  organic  sense  disturbances,  when  once 
our  consciousness  comes  to  be  very  strongly  coloured 
through  their  presence,  may  be  very  great.  The  liter- 
ature of  meditation  is  full  of  evidences  of  the  promi- 


126  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

nence  that  experiences  thus  determined  have  possessed 
in  the  life  of  those  who  often  imagined  themselves  to 
be  independent  of  the  senses  in  precisely  the  highest 
of  their  mental  processes.  Thus  fasting  and  wakeful- 
ness are  productive  of  characteristic,  although,  in  vari- 
ous people,  of  decidedly  different  sorts  of  sensory 
experience,  due  to  the  alterations  of  organic  condi- 
tions. If  an  ascetic  or  a  meditative  person  uses 
fasting  or  vigil  as  a  means  to  support  his  medita- 
tion, he  is  quite  as  definitely  dependent  upon  the  ex- 
citement of  certain  sense  organs  as  if  he  ate  olives  or 
played  the  violin.  And  it  is  perfectly  true  that  certain 
of  the  organic  sensations  have  a  relation  to  the  higher 
mental  life  which  those  who  are  devoted  to  the  observa- 
tion of  things  outside  the  organism  often  fail  to  discover. 
But  the  connection  between  our  mental  and  sensory 
life  is  not  even  thus  exhausted.  For,  as  we  have  just 
said,  our  sense  disturbances,  and  the  attendant  central 
processes  of  whatever  type,  normally  tend  to  get 
themselves  expressed  outwardly  in  motion.  But  our 
movements y  zvhen  they  occur ^  are  at  every  stage  the  source 
of  new  sensory  experiences.  The  contractions  of  mus- 
cles, the  series  of  positions  of  a  moving  organ  such  as 
the  hand  or  the  leg,  become  reflected  in  our  conscious- 
ness through  sensory  disturbances  that  inform  ns  of 
what  takes  place  wJien  we  move.  These  sensory  dis- 
turbances are  largely  of  the  kind  that,  when  isolated, 
give  us  the  sensations  known  as  the  muscular  sensa- 


SENSITIVENESS  — SPJNSORY    EXPERIENCE  127 

tions,  the  joint  sensations,  the  sensations  of  strain,  and 
in  general  our  motor  experiences.  Visual  experiences 
take  part  in  this  same  process  whereby  we  become 
aware  of  our  movements.  For  at  every  moment,  as  we 
walk,  we  guide  our  steps  by  means  of  the  eye ;  and 
most  of  the  skilful  activities  of  the  hand  are  more  or 
less  supported  in  the  same  way.  Experiences  due  to 
the  sense  of  hearing  guide  us  whenever  we  use  the 
voice ;  so  that  deafness,  even  when  acquired  very  late 
in  life,  tends  to  affect  vocal  skill.  The  weight  of  the 
experimental  and  pathological  evidence  is  to  the  effect 
that  we  are  unaware  of  our  own  move7fients  except  i)i 
terms  of  the  sensory  experie^ices  which  thus  accompa?iy 
and  result  from  their  occurrence.  To  the  outgoing  ner- 
vous current  in  the  motor  nerves,  consciousness  does 
not  directly  correspond.  But  all  the  more  must  our 
sensory  experiences  become  important  for  the  support 
of  our  voluntary  as  well  as  of  our  intellectual  life,  in 
view  of  the  fact  that  our  sensory  experience  is  not  only 
a  constant  accompaniment  of  the  processes  that  deter- 
mine our  movements,  but  furnishes  the  basis  for  the 
only  knowledge  that  we  are  able  to  possess  of  what 
our  movements  are. 

The  practical  application  of  the  foregoing  considera- 
tions regarding  the  centrally  important  place  which  sen- 
sory experience  occupies  in  our  lives,  is  obvious,  and  is, 
for  every  one  who  has  to  guide  minds,  of  the  most  criti- 
cal importance.      TJic  developincnt  and  support  of  men- 


128  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

tal  activities  of  every  grade  is  dependent  7ipon  the  constant 
and  proper  use  of  tJie  sense  organs.  Every  citltivation  of 
eveji  the  highest  inner  life  involves  a  cultivation  of  the 
sense  organs.  To  use  a  very  imperfect  simile :  the 
sense  organs  are  related  to  the  higher  mental  life  some- 
what as  the  keys  and  stops  of  the  organ  are  related  to 
the  music.  In  vain  is  the  organist's  skill,  if  the  keys 
and  stops  will  not  work.  In  vain  is  the  composer's  art, 
if  the  mechanism  of  the  instrument  is  not  also  in  work- 
ing order. 

The  life  of  the  senses  does  not  constitute  a  sort  of 
lower  life,  over  against  which  the  higher  intellectual, 
emotional,  and  voluntary  life  stands,  as  a  markedly  con- 
trasted region,  relatively  independent  of  the  other,  and 
ideally  capable  of  a  certain  divorce  from  it.  On  the 
contrary,  sensory  experience  plays  its  part,  and  its  essen- 
tial part,  in  the  very  highest  of  our  spiritual  existence. 
When  we  wish  to  cultivate  processes  of  abstract  think- 
ing, our  devices  must  therefore  include  a  fitting  plan  for 
the  cultivation  of  the  senses,  and  must  not  seek  to 
exclude  sense  experience  as  such,  but  only  to  select 
among  sensory  experiences  those  that  will  prove  useful 
for  a  purpose. 

In  the  attempt  to  cultivate  and  to  support  religious 
meditation  of  the  higher  type,  the  ritualist  has  con- 
sequently often  appeared  more  psychological  in  his 
devices  than  did  the  Puritan  of  old,  who  endeavoured  to 
support  religious  life  by  excluding  what  he  regarded  as 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  I2g 

a  confusing  or  as  a  corrupting  appeal  to  the  senses.  In 
so  far  as  the  devices  of  exclusion  which  so  often  charac- 
terise the  Puritan  forms  of  worship,  were  accompanied  by 
an  equal  fear  both  of  externally  attractive  sense  experi- 
ences, and  of  many  of  the  forms  of  worship  which  mys- 
tics have  employed  for  the  sake  of  arousing  the  fitting 
organic  sensations,  Puritanism,  in  some  of  its  forms, 
seems  to  have  tended  inevitably  to  the  impoverishment 
of  religious  experience.  When  it  escaped  this  result, 
and  passed  through  its  times  of  awakening  and  of  fer- 
vour, its  success  was  due  not  to  its  mere  exclusion  of 
appeals  to  the  senses,  but  to  its  encouragement  of  those 
forms  of  sensory  experience  which  were  connected  with 
strenuous  and  dutiful  activities,  and  with  the  motor  pro- 
cesses accompanying  earnest  prayer.  The  mystics 
themselves,  in  waiting  for  "the  voice  of  the  spirit," 
were  psychologically  aided  by  the  concentration  of  their 
attention  upon  certain  types  of  organic  sensation.  In 
brief,  whatever  be  the  best  form  of  religious  training,  it 
ought  deliberately  to  make  use  of  a  proper  appeal  to  the 
senses. 

In  general,  then,  higher  mental  training  depends  not 
upon  avoiding  sensory  experience,  but  upon  selecting 
the  right  kind  of  sense  disturbance,  and  upon  present- 
ing sensory  experiences  in  such  order  as  to  train  fitting 
habits  of  movement. 

§  52.  Any  extended  discussion  of  the  various  types 
of  special  sensations  is  impossible  in  this  place.     A  full 


130  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

account  would  demand,  in  the  present  state  of  experi- 
mental research,  hundreds  of  pages.  A  mere  catalogue 
of  the  distinguishable  sorts  of  simple  sensory  experi- 
ences would  prove  uninstructive.  For  fuller  accounts 
the  reader  must  accordingly  be  referred  to  more  special 
treatises.  Our  concern  is  here  with  some  of  the  most 
general  considerations  as  to  the  classification  of  our 
sensory  experience. 

One  must  distinguish,  in  the  first  place,  between  the 
sensory  states  that  especially  or  principally  give  us 
informatio7i  conceiming  the  inovements  and  the  internal 
changes  of  our  organism^  and  those  which  principally 
give  us  information  regardijig  sti^nuli  which  are  exter- 
nal to  the  orgaiiisin. 

The  distinction  here  in  question  is  indeed  not  alto- 
gether a  sharp  one.  It  cannot  be  sharp,  simply  because 
every  external  disturbance  which  affects  our  conscious- 
ness is  also,  in  some  degree,  a  disturbance  of  the  whole 
organism.  Moreover,  when  I  move  my  hand,  in  order  to 
grasp  an  object,  I  both  see  the  outer  object  and  also  see 
my  moving  hand,  so  that,  in  this  case,  sensory  experi- 
ences of  the  same  general  type  give  me  information  both 
concerning  my  own  movements  and  concerning  the  exter- 
nal things.  I  use  both  these  results  of  seeing  as  I  guide 
my  act  of  grasping.  The  same  holds  true  when,  in 
walking,  I  both  see  the  inequalities  of  the  path,  and 
by  means  of  my  eyes  am  able  in  part  to  guide  the 
movements  whereby  I  adjust  my  feet  to  the  ground; 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY    EXPERIENCE  131 

or  when,  in  conversing,  I  both  hear  my  fellow's  speech 
and  am  able,  through  my  ear,  to  guide  the  modulations 
of  my  own  voice.  But  there  are  indeed  certain  sorts  of 
sensory  experience,  namely,  the  so-called  **  organic  sen- 
sations," which  are  principally  of  use  as  informing  me 
regarding  the  internal  states  of  my  organism ;  while 
such  sensory  experiences  as  those  of  sight  are  most 
indispensable  to  me  when  they  are  sources  of  know- 
ledge about  facts  external  to  my  organism.  For  while 
I  can  learn  to  carry  out  very  complicated  voluntary 
movements  in  the  dark,  and  could  learn  such  arts  even 
if  I  were  blind ;  on  the  other  hand,  if  I  were  blind,  I 
could  never  learn  to  distinguish  between  the  presence 
and  absence  of  light  in  the  outer  world. 

§  53.  Beginning,  then,  with  the  sensory  experiences 
which  are  predominantly  internal,  i.e.  which  especially 
inform  one  as  to  the  states  and  the  changes  of  one's 
own  organism,  we  may  name,  first,  the  "  organic 
sensations "  themselves.  Sensory  experiences  of  this 
type  form  a  vast,  and  in  part  a  very  vaguely  complex 
realm ;  and  the  experimental  production  of  analysed 
states  of  mind,  such  as  enable  us  to  study  definite 
small  groups  of  organic  sensations  in  isolation,  is  ex- 
tremely difficult.  We  are  able,  however,  to  name,  as 
especially  important  amongst  the  organic  sensory 
experiences:  (i)  those  which  inform  us  as  to  the 
general  position  of  our  bodies,  and  as  to  the  changes  in 
the  bodily  equilibrium.     These  experiences  include  cer- 


132  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

tain  sensory  facts  that  enable  us  to  judge  of  the  direc- 
tion of  movement  of  the  organism,  especially  of  the 
head,  whenever  this  direction  is  suddenly  altered. 
(2)  We  have  to  name  those  organic  sensory  experiences 
by  which  we  become  aware  of  our  more  special  and 
dijfereiitiated  movements,  in  so  far  as  these  are  known 
to  us  through  sense  disturbances  directly  due  to  the 
contraction  of  mnscles,  the  stretching  of  tendons,  the 
co7itact  of  tJie  internal  surfaces  of  joints,  etc.  There 
are  also  (3)  those  experiences  which  take  the  form 
of  more  or  less  sharply  localised  internal  pains ; 
(4)  those  complexes  of  sensory  experience  which 
appear  in  hunger,  thirst,  and  similar  organic  states; 
and  (5)  those  which,  when  taken  together  with  cer- 
tain masses  of  feelings,  give  special  character  to  our 
emotional  experie7ices  (as  for  instance  the  "  choking 
in  the  throat "  which  accompanies  anger,  and  many 
of  the  other  sensory  accompaniments  of  emotion). 
Of  the  importance  of  these  organic  sensations,  as 
constituting  a  decidedly  fundamental  sensory  aspect  of 
all  our  mental  life,  we  shall  speak  further  in  other  con- 
nections. 

Next  to  the  organic  sensations,  both  in  their  gen- 
eral character  and  in  the  kind  of  significance  which 
they  possess  for  our  mental  life,  stand  the  sensory  ex- 
periences due  to  the  disturbances  of  the  skin.  In  case 
of  a  large  number  of  our  organic  sensory  experiences, 
the  disturbances  of  the  skin  due  to  stretching,  to  wrin- 


SENSITIVENESS  — SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  133 

kling,  to  tickling,  to  perspiration,  etc.,  join  with  the  more 
internal  organic  conditions  to  determine  what  we  notice 
as  our  own  present  bodily  condition.  The  same  is 
true  of  the  sensations  of  pain,  which  a  vast  number  of 
points  on  the  skin  can  so  freely  give  us. 

In  so  far  the  "dermal  sense,"  as  it  is  sometimes 
called,  is  a  part  of  the  condition  of  our  organic  sensory 
experience.  But  the  skin  also  contains  a  vast  number 
of  sense  organs  which  are  of  constant  use  to  us  in  learn- 
ing about  external  objects.  The  sensory  experiences 
here  in  question  are  those  of  contact  and  of  temperature. 
They  are  due  to  the  excitation  of  points  on  the  skin 
which  differ  for  the  various  special  sorts  of  experiences 
in  question.  Experiment  shows  that  certain  points  of 
the  skin  are  especially  sensitive  to  stimulations  given  by 
cold  objects,  while  other  points  are  sensitive  to  disturb- 
ances due  to  hot  objects.  Our  ordinary  sensory  expe- 
rience of  warmth  or  of  cold  is  due  to  a  complex  excite- 
ment of  many  points  of  both  these  types.  Still  other 
points  on  the  skin,  very  wealthily  interspersed  amongst 
the  others,  give  us,  if  excited  in  isolation,  sensations  of 
contact  or  of  pressure.  Complex  sensory  excitations, 
due  to  the  disturbances  of  the  skin,  sometimes  with  and 
sometimes  without,  notable  accompanying  organic  dis- 
turbances, give  us  our  experiences  of  hard  and  soft,  of 
rough  and  smooth,  of  dry  and  tnoist  objects.  Sensory 
experiences  due  to  our  own  movements,  made  as  we  ex- 
plore and  handle  objects,  are  seldom  lacking  as  aspects 


134  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

or  portions  of  the  experiences  whereby  we  judge  both 
the  foregoing,  and  many  other  of  the  quahties  of  the 
bodies  with  which  we  come  in  contact. 

§  54.  Next  to  the  dermal  sensations,  in  that  series  of 
our  sensory  experiences  which  is  now  in  question,  come 
experiences  of  the  senses  of  taste  and  smell.  These, 
as  they  usually  appear  in  our  consciousness,  are 
very  decidedly  coloured  by  feelings,  and  are  conse- 
quently closely  associated  in  our  mind  with  our 
estimate  of  our  own  bodily  state ;  but,  on  the  other 
hand,  they  are  constantly  used  as  indications  of  the 
nature  of  external  objects.  The  sensory  experiences 
of  these  two  senses  are  very  frequently  aroused 
together.  This  is  the  case  with  most  articles  of  food. 
Experimental  analysis  shows  that,  while  the  sense  of 
taste  is  comparatively  simple  in  its  experiences,  there 
being  but  four  distinct  qualities  that  can  be  referred  to 
the  sense  of  taste  alone,  the  sense  of  smell,  on  the  other 
hand,  gives  us  experiences  of  an  enormous  variety,  for 
which  no  satisfactory  classification  has  yet  been  found. 
The  four  classes  of  taste  experiences  are  those  of  the 
quahties  :  sweet,  acid,  salt,  and  bitter.  For  the  experi- 
ences of  the  sense  of  smell,  language  has  a  considerable, 
but  altogether  inadequate  collection  of  names,  mostly 
derived  from  the  names  of  the  objects  to  which  the 
odours  belong.  The  more  precise  relations  among  these 
odours  are  very  little  known  either  to  common  sense  or 
to  psychologists. 


SENSITIVENESS  — SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  135 

The  two  highest  among  the  senses  are  those  of  sight 
and  hearing.  Their  experiences  are  of  special  impor- 
tance to  us  in  all  our  relations  to  the  world  outside  the 
organism.  Yet,  as  has  already  been  pointed  out,  we 
also  use  the  data  of  these  senses  in  becoming  aware  of 
our  own  reactions  to  the  environment.  These  senses 
then  do  indeed  make  us  acquainted  with  our  own 
bodily  state,  but  their  predominant  value  Ues  in  the 
knowledge  of  outer  objects  that  they  furnish. 

The  sensory  experiences  of  the  sense  of  sight  are  of 
two  great  classes, —  those  possessed  of  the  quality  known 
as  colour,  and  those  possessed  of  the  quality  of  colourless 
light.  As  to  the  precise  relation  of  these  two  classes  of 
experiences,  it  is  impossible  here  further  to  speak.  We 
can,  however,  point  out  that  the  sensory  experiences  of 
the  sense  of  sight  are  capable  of  a  decidedly  exhaustive 
classification,  and  constitute  one  of  the  best-known 
regions  of  sensory  experience.  The  experiences  of 
the  sense  of  hearing  belong  to  the  two  great  classes 
of  the  noises  and  of  the  musical  tones.  The  musical 
tones  have  relationships  whose  aesthetic  importance  has 
made  them  extremely  familiar.  Nowhere  better  than  in 
the  case  of  the  sense  of  hearing  are  we  able  to  study 
the  precise  relations  between  our  sensory  experiences 
and  their  external  physical  causes ;  but  the  theory  of 
the  sense  experiences  of  hearing  forms  again  a  specialty 
far  too  complex  for  the  present  discussion  to  enter 
upon. 


136  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

As  the  senses  of  sight  and  of  hearing  are  preeminent 
in  their  power  to  give  us  an  acquaintance  with  the  ex- 
ternal world,  so  they  are  especially  marked  by  the  sorts 
of  discriminating  analysis  which  their  sensory  experi- 
ences awaken  in  the  trained  consciousness.  The  vari- 
ous sensory  experiences  of  the  sense  of  sight  come  to 
us,  from  moment  to  moment,  with  such  an  order  and 
arrangement  that  we  are  able  clearly  to  distinguish  one 
visible  object  from  another,  and,  with  minute  accuracy, 
to  differentiate  one  part  of  the  field  of  vision  from 
another  part.  The  experiences  of  the  sense  of  hearing 
are  such  as  to  permit  the  training  of  a  very  high  degree 
of  power  to  analyse  the  constitution  of  sounds  —  a 
power  of  which  we  have  already  made  mention  in 
giving  our  examples  of  the  general  nature  of  analysed 
states  of  mind. 

§  55.-  Common  to  all  the  various  types  of  sensory 
experiences  which  have  been  indicated  in  the  foregoing 
discussion,  is  the  presence  of  tzvo  7iotable  characters 
which  are  sometimes  called  Attributes  of  Sensation. 
Every  sensation  possesses,  namely.  Quality  and  Inten- 
sity. Sensations  differ  in  quality  when  the  difference 
is  of  the  sort  whereby  we  distinguish  two  colours,  or  is 
of  the  sort  whereby  we  distinguish  hot  and  cold,  or 
sweet  and  bitter.  Two  sensations  differ  in  intensity 
when  they  differ  as  a  loud  tone  at  a  given  pitch  differs 
from  a  softer  tone  at  the  same  pitch,  or  as  our  .experi- 
ence of  a  notable  pressure  differs  from  our  experiertr:?©..,.,^ 


SENSITIVENESS  — SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  137 

6i  a  very  light  pressure.  The  characteristics  of  quality 
anH  of  intensity  can  be  most  exactly  attributed  to  single 
sensations  in  so  far  as  the  latter  have  been  experimen- 
tally isolated.  But  the  same  characters  are  to  be  found 
also  in  the  masses  of  sensory  experience  which  charac- 
terise ourXnai've  consciousness.  Ideally  spcaki7ig,  sen- 
sations or  sei^ory  experiences  of  ajiy  sort  can  be  exactly 
compared  i7i  im^isity  only  in  so  far  as  they  very  closely 
agree  in  quality,  \rhus,  it  is  impossible  to  say  whether 
a  given  sensory  expei^ence  of  weight  is  more  intense  in 
its  heaviness  than  a  given  sound  is  intense  in  its  loud- 
ness. Yet,  owing  to  the  fact  that  entirely  isolated 
sensations  which  are  precisely  the  same  in  quality,  but 
which  differ  only  in  intensity,  are  decidedly  ideal  objects 
of  psychological  conception,  comparisons  of  the  inten- 
sity of  our  experiences  are  generally  more  or  less  min- 
gled with  differences  of  quality.  The  variations  in 
intensity  of  sensation  are  capable  of  being  arranged 
in  series  corresponding,  although  not  proportionate,  to 
the  physical  magnitudes  of  the  external  sources  of 
stimulation.  To  a  stimulation  that  sufficiently  exceeds 
another  in  magnitude,  there  will  correspond,  when  com- 
parisons in  intensity  are  possible,  a  sensory  experience 
of  a  noticeably  greater  intensity.  But  the  correspond- 
ence in  question  must  not  be  interpreted  as  implying 
that  the  intensities  of  sensations  are  themselves  quan- 
tities in  the  same  sense  in  which  physical  magnitudes 
are  quantities.     As  to  the  relation  between  the  intensi- 


\ 


138  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

ties  of  sensations  and  the  magnitudes  of  the  stimuli, 
there  has  been  very  elaborate  experimental  investiga- 
tioriv  The  outcome  of  this  investigation  has  been  for- 
mulati^d  in  the  so-called  *'  psycho-physic  law,"  which 
we  shar^  briefly  consider  later  under  the  head  of  Mental 
Docility.  \ 

The  qualities  of  sensation  have  a  much  richer  vari- 
ety  than  th6^  variations  in  intensity  possess ;  for  while 
the  variations  in  the  intensity  of  sensory  experiences 
possessing  the  same  quality  form  a  simple  series,  the 
variations  of  quality  of  our  sensory  experiences  can 
be  arranged  in  no  single  series,  but  are  presented  to 
our  attention,  in  so'  far  as  we  have  learned  to  discrimi- 
nate them,  in  a  very  great  complexity  of  series  of 
facts.  In  our  indication  of  the  various  general  classes 
of  sensations,  we  have  already  made  some  mention  of 
certain  characteristic  and  well-known  qualities  of  sen- 
sory experience.  The  various  senses  are  distinguished 
from  one  another  in  terms  of  sense  qualities.  Thus, 
the  colours  and  the  sounds  differ  from  one  another  in 
quality.  Here  the  difference  of  quality  is  associated 
with  a  very  obvious  difference  of  the  sense  organs.  In 
other  cases,  where  it  requires  decidedly  careful  experi- 
ments to  detect  any  difference  of  the  sense  organs,  the 
differences  in  quality  first  attract  our  attention.  So 
it  has  been,  for  instance,  in  the  case  of  the  sense 
experience  of  the  hot  and  cold  points  of  the  skin. 
It  was  long  supposed  that  the  temperature  sense  pos- 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  139 

Sussed  a  single  type  of  sense  organs,  all  of  which 
gave  us,  according  to  the  intensity  of  the  stimulation, 
experiences  of  hot  and  cold  qualities.  It  is  now 
known  that  these  qualities  are  due  to  the  excitation 
of  different  sense  organs.  But  within  the  field  of  any 
one  sense,  as  for  instance  the  sense  of  sight,  we  have 
variations  of  sense  quality  which  correspond  not  only 
to  differences  of  sense  organ  but  also  to  differences 
in  the  way  in  which  a  single  sense  organ  is  stimulated 
by  different  external  disturbances.  No  absolutely  gen- 
eral rule  can  therefore  be  given  as  to  the  extent  to 
which  qualitative  differences  of  sensory  experiences 
imply  the  excitation  of  different  sense  organs.  But, 
on  the  whole,  the  qualities  of  sensation  as  they  come 
to  consciousness  depend,  in  general,  npon  (wo  types  of 
facts,  namely,  first  upon  the  different  sense  organs  stimu- 
lated, and  secondly  upon  the  physically  different  char- 
acters  of  the  external  stitJticli.  >-, 

§  56.  It  remains  to  speak  of  still  another  attribute 
possessed  by  a  great  number  of  our  sensory  expe- 
riences, and  especially  by  those  of  the  dermal  sense 
and  of  the  sense  of  sight.  This  character  is  the  one 
upon  which  our  developed  ideas  of  Space  depend. 
It  is  a  character  noticeable  in  every  instance  of  our 
sensory  experiences  of  the  types  in  question,  however 
simple  the  experience  may  otherwise  be.  This  char- 
acter may  be  called  Extensity.  Thus,  every  disturb- 
ance of  the  sense  of  sight  gives  us  an  impression  of 


140  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

^i^ht  which,  even  if  it  be  of  the  character  of  the 
simplest  possible  point  of  light,  still  possesses  some 
featu'te  whereby  the  point  of  light  is  localised  in  the 
field  o^yision,  i.e.  is  related  to  our  consciousness  of 
visual  space.  Our  ordinary  experiences  of  the  sense 
of  sight  are  experiences  of  a  disturbance  which 
extend  over  a  considerable  portion  of  the  field  of 
vision.  Precisely  so,  in  the  field  of  the  experiences 
of  touch,  we  are  normally  affected  by  stimuli  which 
appear  to  us  to  be  in  contact  with  a  considerable 
surface  of  the  skin.  And,  even  in  case  of  the  most 
nearly  simple  or  punctual  sensation  of  touch  which 
we  can  experience,  there  still  remains  about  this  ex- 
perience a  character  which  enables  us  to  localise  with 
considerable  accuracy  the  point  touched. 

While  the  accurate  localisation  of  our  sensory  ex- 
periences of  sight  and  touch  unquestionably  depends 
upon  habits  and  associations  which  are  phenomena  of 
our  docility,  and  not  of  our  merely  present  sensory 
experience,  it  is  impossible  to  regard  our  present  visual 
and  tactile  experiences,  even  when  taken  apart  from 
habit,  as  wholly  destitute  of  spatial  characters.  What- 
ever we  see  or  touch  has  spatial  magnitude  as  one  of 
its  directly  presented  characters.  How  far  extensity 
belongs  in  any  measure  to  the  senses  of  smell  and 
taste  when  considered  in  themselves,  apart  from  their 
associations  with  other  sensory  experience,  is  a  iliatter 
of  question.     The  experiences  of  the  sense  of  heaHng 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  14 


"keem  to  possess  some  measure  of  extensity;  and  this  -'1 
character  is  very  markedly  present  in  a  considerable  )  v^ 
portion  of  our  organic  sensations,  if  not  in  all  of  them. 
So  that  there  is  much  to  say  for  the  view  that  all  our 
sensory\xperience  witJioiit  exceptio7i  possesses  the prujii- 
tive  character  upon  which  our  developed  notion  of  space 
is  founded.    \  ^ 

To  say,  however,  that  this  character  belongs  to  our 
various  sensory  experiences,  is  not  to  say  that  the  char-  "  ■ 
acter  in  question  is  iiKall  respects  as  ultimate  and  inex- 
plicable as  are  the  qualifies  of  our  sensations.  Why  the 
colours  should  possess  their  immediate  quality,  and  the 
sounds  their  quality,  it  is  of  course  impossible  to  at- 
tempt in  any  sense  to  explain.  But  why  our  sensory 
experiences  possess  a  certain  primitive  extensity    may  ^^ 

be,  not  indeed  entirely  explained,  but  brought  into 
relation  with  other  facts,  if  we  take  accou'nt  of  certain  >^ 

phenomena   which   have    important    relations    to    our 
whole   organic    life./ihe    researches    of    Loeb    and 
others  have  called  attention,  in  the  recent  literature  of 
genetic  psychology,  to  the  vast  importance  which  is  pos-    ,     ^ 
sessed,  in  all  grades  of  animal  life,  by  the  types  of  reac-  '^ 
tiofi  which   have   been   called  tropisms  of  Orientation}  x      ^ , 
We  earlier  made  mention  of   such  reactions  when  we  ':3 

were  speaking  of  the  various  tropisms  which  Loeb  has 
experimentally  examined,  as  they  exist  in  lower  organ- 
isms.    The  general  character  of  such  reactions  is  that 

1  Cf.  Fritz  Hartmann's  monograph,  Die  Orientirung,  Leipzig,  1902. 


142  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

they  determine,  in  an  organism  of  a  given  type,  a  certain 
characteristic  normal  position  of  the  organism  with 
reference  to  its  environme7it,  and  certain  equally  char- 
acteristic tendencies  on  the  part  of  the  organism  to 
recover  its  normal  position  wJien  it  is  for  a7iy  reason 
temporarily  lost,  and  to  assume,  in  the  presence  of 
stimuli  of  certain  types,  certaiii  directiofis  of  7noveme7it 
and  certai^i  attitudes  which  may  persist  throtigh  a  great 
variety  of  special  activities.  The  phenomena  here  in 
question  are,  in  a  sense,  very  familiar  to  us  all.  The 
animal  laid  upon  its  back  may  struggle  back  again 
to  the  normal  position.  Or  again,  the  human  being 
when  engaged  in  normal  activities  either  sits  or  stands 
erect.  When  the  eyes  are  engaged  in  their  normal 
activity,  the  head  is  held  erect,  or,  if  these  normal 
attitudes  are  modified,  as  in  reading  or  in  writing,  the 
modification  occurs  only  within  certain  limits.  To 
attempt  to  carry  on  the  same  activities  when  lying  on 
one's  back,  leads  to  discomfort,  and  interferes  with  the 
normal  special  movement  of  the  eyes.  It  is  thus  a 
familiar  fact  that  a  certain  oriejitation  of  body,  that  is, 
a  certain  general  direction  of  the  organism  with  reference 
to  its  environment  and  with  reference  to  the  most  impor- 
tant kinds  of  stimulation  which  are  falling  upon  it,  is  a 
condition  prior  to  all  special  activities.  Hence  the  reac- 
tio7is  of  orientation  are  amo7igst  the  m.ost  fimdame7ital 
phenomena  of  healthy  life.  Profound  disturbances  of 
orientation  necessarily  imply  very  considerable  defects, 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  1 43 

and  in  most  cases  very  gravely  important  defects,  in 
central  functions.  Thus  our  responses  to  our  environ- 
ment are  not  only  special  deeds,  such  as  grasping  this 
object,  or  looking  at  that  object,  but  include  general 
attitudes,  namely,  such  acts  as  sitting  or  standing  erect 
or  holding  the  head  up  in  order  that  we  may  see.  And 
the  special  acts  are  ahvays  superposed  upon  tlie  general 
acts,  in  such  wise  that  if  the  general  tropisms  of 
orientation  are  seriously  disturbed,  the  special  acts, 
however  habitual,  will  be  interfered  with  or  will  prove 
to  be  impossible. 

Now,  as  has  been  pointed  out  in  the  foregoing,  all 
our  voluntary  activities  tend  to  be  represented  from 
moment  to  moment  in  our  sensory  experience.  It 
follows  therefore  that  otir  sensory  experience  at  any 
moment  will  stand  partly  for  our  more  ge7ieral  activities 
of  orientation,  ajid  partly  for  our  more  special  reactions  to 
ijidividiial  objects.  Since,  meanwhile,  every  disturbance 
produced  in  us  by  an  external  object  will  become  a  con- 
scious disturbance  only  in  so  far  as  we  tend  to  respond 
to  the  presence  of  this  object  in  some  way,  all  otir 
particular  sensory  experiences  will  be  related,  not  07ily  to 
our  special  acts,  but  to  our  ge7ieral  acts  of  orientation,  and 
to  those  expericjtces  which  resiclt  from  these  acts. 

Now  the  acts  of  orientation  —  such  acts  as  holding 
ourselves  erect,  balancing  as  we  move,  keeping  the 
organism  as  a  whole  alert  in  its  relations  to  the  world  — 
are   attended   by    organic   sensations  of  a  massive  but 


144  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

usually  unanalysed  character.  These  include,  for 
instance,  those  organic  sensations  by  means  of  which 
our  movements  are  so  controlled  that  we  keep  our 
equilibrium  —  the  organic  sensations,  namely,  which  are 
deranged  when  we  are  dizzy.  It  is  well  known  how  the 
sensations  of  dizziness  are  generally  associated  with  a 
defect,  and,  if  they  are  intense,  with  a  profound  failure, 
of  orientation.  On  the  other  hand,  in  normal  conditions, 
our  sensations  of  equilibrium  are  of  the  utmost  impor- 
tance as  a  basis  for  guiding  all  our  special  acts.^  Fur- 
thermore, the  movements  that  we  make  as  we  keep  our 
equilibrium  are  represented  in  our  consciousness  by 
numerous  massive  sensory  experiences  due  to  muscles, 
joints,  etc. 

It  follows  that  our  sensory  consciousness  of  the  world 
in  which  we  are,  and  of  our  own  response  to  this  world, 
will  constantly  be  of  a  type  such  that  if  we  become  con- 
scious of  any  particiclar  sensory  experience^  especially  of 
the  senses  of  sight  and  of  touch,  we  shall  discriminate 
this  particular  experience  upon  a  background  of  sensory 
experience  which  is  made  up  of  the  general  present  con- 
tents due  to  our  experiences  of  orientation.  The  experi- 
ences of  orientation  will  form  a  general  basis  for  our 
special  sensory  consciousness.  Within  the  whole  of  ex- 
perience that  our  experiences  of  orientation  determine, 
all  our  special  sensory  experiences  will  be  found.     This 

1  These  sensory  experiences  are  due  to  the  organ  of  the  so-called  "  static 
sense,"  viz.,  to  the  semicircular  canals  of  the  internal  ear. 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  145 

will  be  especially  true  of  the  senses  of  sight  and  of 
touch,  because  of  the  very  significant  relations  of  these 
experiences  to  certain  specific  movements  of  the  eyes 
and  of  the  organs  of  locomotion.  It  will  be  to  a  less 
extent  true  of  the  experiences  of  sound,  in  so  far  as 
these  are  related  to  movements  of  the  head.  It  will  be 
to  a  still  less  degree  true  of  the  sensory  experiences  of 
smell  and  of  taste,  because  the  relation  of  these  to 
specific  voluntary  movements  is  less  constant,  or  is  such 
as  less  to  alter  our  relation  to  our  external  environment. 
It  appears,  in  consequence,  that  the  character  of 
extensity  possessed  by  our  individual  sensations  is  a 
character  which  has  some  intimate  connection  with  the 
relation  possessed  by  these  experiences  to  the  total  complex 
of  07ir  experiences  of  orientatioji.  When  our  experiences 
of  orientation  come  to  us  as  a  single  undifferentiated 
whole,  they  appear  to  constitute  our  primal  experience 
of  the  chai'acter  knoivn  as  extensity.  Our  organism,  as 
something  oriented  in  a  particular  way  in  reference  to 
its  environment,  appears  in  consciousness  as  some- 
thing large,  and  as  something  that  possesses  what  we 
shall  learn  to  call  "directions,"  just  as  soon  as  we  have 
begun  to  discriminate  within  the  total  experience.  Our 
special  sensory  experiences  of  the  types  most  concerned 
with  our  particular  movements  are  such  that  they  tend 
to  appear  as  facts  differentiated  within  this  whole  of  our 
total  experience  of  organic  orientation.  That  this  fact 
should  occur,  we  do  not  indeed  attempt  here  wholly  to 


146  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

explain.  But  we  point  out  that  the  conscious  relation- 
ship here  mentioned  is  parallel  to,  or  correspondent 
with,  that  relation  between  our  general  acts  of  orienta- 
tion and  our  special  acts  which  we  have  already  indi- 
cated in  the  foregoing  summary.  As  the  general 
orientation  of  the  organism  is  to  its  special  acts  and 
sensory  experiences,  so  is,  in  our  consciousness,  our 
general  organic  sensory  experience  of  the  presence  and 
the  total  orientation  of  our  organic  activity,  to  the 
special  experiences  which  our  differentiated  acts  give 
us.  Whatever  character  a  particular  sensory  experi- 
ence possesses  which  enables  us  to  localise  this  experi- 
ence as  coming  at  a  certain  point  in  the  organism,  and 
whatever  character  a  given  movement  possesses  which 
enables  us  to  specify  its  particular  direction  and  other 
special  characters,  and,  finally,  whatever  character  a 
complex  visual  or  tactual  experience  possesses  which 
enables  us  to  judge  of  the  size  of  the  object  that  we 
see  or  touch,  all  such  sensory  experiences  appear  to 
our  consciousness  as  facts  existent  witJiin  a  certain 
primitive  whole ^  which,  apart  from  differentiation,  is  our 
experience  of  the  general  orientation  of  the  entire  organ- 
ism. We  know  special  facts  about  space,  such  as  sizes, 
particular  directions,  and  distances,  in  terms  of  certain 
acts  of  our  own,  which  we  either  perform  from  moment 
to  moment,  or  imagine  in  consequence  of  habits  already 
formed.  We  know  of  the  world  as  possessing  spatial  char- 
acters at  ally  because  we  experience  our  general  relation  to 


SENSITIVENESS  —  SENSORY   EXPERIENCE  147 

oiir  enviro7inient  in  the  form  of  our  organic  sensory  expe- 
riences of  orientation.  The  special  facts  of  our  spatial 
consciousness  are  related  to  our  general  experience  of 
extensity,  because  the  single  facts  of  sense ^  and  the  sift- 
gle  movements  which  we  make^  are  always  related  tOy 
or,  as  one  may  say,  are  differentiations  of,  our  general 
orientation} 

^  Compare  the  somewhat  different  but  related  view  as  to  the  basis  of 
our  consciousness  of  extensity  in  the  monograph  of  Storch,  "  Muskelfunk- 
tion  und  Bewusstsein  "  in  Number  X  of  the  Grenzfragen  des  Nerven  und 
Seelenlebens,  1 90 1, 


CHAPTER  VI 

Sensitiveness 

b.  mental  imagery 

§  57.  The  field  of  mental  sensitiveness  includes  not 
merely  those  aspects  of  our  mental  life  which  are  due 
to  the  present  disturbance  of  sense  organs.  It  in- 
cludes also  those  processes  whose  mental  aspects 
appear  in  the  Images  which  constantly  accompany 
all  our  more  complex  conscious  processes.  These 
images  are  m  general  the  indirect  results  of  previous 
se?tsory  disturb ajices.  In  so  far  the  consideration  of 
the  conditions  which  determine  their  appearance  be- 
longs under  the  head  of  Mental  Docility.  On  the 
other  hand,  in  so  far  as  the  images  from  moment  to 
moment  appear^  they  depend  upon  the  present  state  of 
the  brain.  They  manifest  a  part  of  the  present  dis- 
turbance which  is  produced  in  us  by  our  whole  rela- 
tion to  the  world  about  us.  They  are  therefore  in 
so  far  manifestations  of  our  present  sensitiveness  to 
such  disturbances.  If  we  suppose,  by  way  of  a 
fiction,  that  there  could  exist  a  mental  state  consist- 
ing altogether  of  mental  images,  and  involving  no 
aspects  of  consciousness  due   to    the    present    disturb- 

148 


SENSITIVENESS  —  MENTAL  IMAGERY  149 

ance  of  our  organs  of  external  or  of  organic  sensa- 
tion, this  mental  state  would  none  the  less  accompany 
a  condition  of  brain  which  would  itself  be  a  part  of 
our  organic  response  to  the  situation  in  which  at  any 
time  we  find  ourselves.  Such  a  mental  state  would, 
therefore,  manifest  our  sensitiveness,  in  so  far  as  our 
organism  thrills,  or  shows  resonance,  in  consequence 
of  what  is  happening  to  us.  For  all  our  central  con- 
ditions are  affected  by  sensory  disturbances,  even 
when  the  sensory  disturbances  in  question  are  not 
directly  manifested  in  our  conscious  state  in  the  form 
of  present  and  conscious  sensory  experience. 

It  is,  therefore,  natural  that  the  partisans  of  the 
usual  view,  which  regards  our  consciousness  as  a 
complex  of  mental  elements,  should  consider  our 
images  as  complexes  of  what  are  often  called  **  cen- 
trally aroused  sensations,"  that  is,  sensations  due  not 
to  the  disturbance  of  sense  organs,  but  to  disturbances 
which  reach  given  brain  centres  from  other  brain  cen- 
tres, and  not  directly  from  sensory  nerves.  This  way 
of  stating  the  case  calls  proper  attention  to  the  fact 
that  our  sensitiveness  at  any  moment  includes  pro- 
cesses whose  physical  aspect  is  due  to  disturbances 
that  pass  from  one  part  of  the  brain  to  the  other, 
and  that,  therefore,  may  be  referred  to  what  we  have 
just  called  the  resonance  of  our  central  organs.  For 
the  environment  of  every  portion  of  the  brain  in- 
cludes not  only  the  external  world  and  the  organism 


150  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

outside  the  brain,  but  the  rest  of  the  brain,  in  so  far 
as  wJiat  goes  on  at  one  point  in  tJie  brain  can  be 
due  to  stimnlatio7ts  brought  thither  from  other  points  of 
the  b7'ain. 

When  special  mental  images  come  to  our  conscious- 
ness as  a  distinguishable  part  of  our  total  mental 
state,  they  are  of  types  that  correspond  to  the  various 
types  of  our  sensory  experience.  Thus  we  have 
visual  images,  images  of  sound,  of  touch,  and  so  on. 
These  images  differ  from  our  current  sense  experi- 
ences, due  to  external  stimulation,  or  to  organic  con- 
ditions outside  the  brain,  in  ways  which  may  be 
generally  characterised  thus :  The  images  are  usu- 
ally somewhat  fainter,  and  in  fact  very  much  fainter, 
than  our  sensory  experiences  themselves.  They  are 
vague.  They  are  not  so  clear  or  so  definite  in  out- 
line and  in  structure  as  are  the  sensory  experiences 
due  to  the  direct  presence  of  external  objects.  They 
are  commonly  more  evanescent  and  changeable  than 
are  the  sensory  experiences.  It  becomes  more  diffi- 
cult to  us  to  observe  their  minor  differences  when  we 
compare  them  together,  or  when  we  endeavour  to  com- 
pare them  with  present  sensory  experience.  A  good 
illustration  of  this  character  of  our  mental  images  is 
the  difficulty  of  trying  to  match  the  colour  of  some 
absent  object,  with  the  colour  of  some  present  object, 
when  we  have  only  the  image  of  the  absent  object 
to  guide  our  process   of  matching.     There   exist   per- 


SENSITIVENESS  — MENTAL   IMAGERY  1 51 

sons  who  in  shopping  can  choose  a  ribbon  that  will 
precisely  match  a  ribbon  that  they  have  left  at  home, 
although  they  carry  no  sample  with  them.  But  such 
success  is  comparatively  rare.  In  consequence  of 
such  differences,  images  have  normally  no  tendency 
to  be  mistaken  for  present  sense  experiences.  Yet 
the  boundary  line  is,  in  certain  conditions  of  conscious- 
ness, by  no  means  perfectly  sharp.  When  we  listen 
at  night  for  an  expected  footstep,  or  in  a  silent  place 
for  the  anticipated  ringing  of  a  distant  bell,  we  may 
"seem  to  hear"  the  sound  before  it  really  takes  place; 
and  under  such  conditions  images  and  sensory  expe- 
riences tend  to  become  confused.  The  relative  vague- 
ness of  our  images  when  compared  with  our  normal 
sensory  experiences  comes  to  light  as  soon  as  we 
begin  to  cross-question  ourselves  with  regard  to  what 
we  can  observe  in  the  image.  Thus  we  can  form 
after  a  fashion  a  visual  image  of  a  printed  page. 
But  if  we  ask  ourselves  what  is  the  third  word  in  the 
fourth  line,  we  find  in  most  cases  that  the  image  is 
unable  to  tell  us. 

Notwithstanding  these  usual  characteristics  of  our 
images,  closer  examination  shows  that  mental  imagery 
varies  very  widely  from  mind  to  mind,  and  probably, 
if  we  were  able  to  compare  directly  the  processes  of 
various  minds,  we  should  find  a  diversity  even  wider 
than  our  present  means  of  comparison  make  clear. 

§  58.    The.  modern    study    of   the    types    of    mental 


152  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

imagery  was  begun  by  Mr.  Francis  Galton,  who  pub- 
lished his  first  results  in  the  book  called  Inquiries 
into  Human  Faculty  and  its  Developrnent.  Galton 
used  the  method  of  the  so-called  "  questionaire "  — 
a  method  since  widely  used  in  other  psychological 
researches.  He  sent,  namely,  a  circular  to  a  large 
number  of  people,  asking  them  to  state  in  some 
detail  the  way  in  which  they  formed  mental  pictures 
of  objects.  His  circular  related  to  the  so-called  visual 
imagination,  that  is,  to  the  power  of  seeing  absent 
objects  "with  the  mind's  eye,"  or  of  forming  images 
of  objects  that,  when  present,  had  been  perceived 
through  the  sense  of  sight.  He  studied,  in  particular, 
the  visual  images  of  familiar  objects.  His  results 
have  since  been  supplemented  by  a  large  number  of 
similar  inquiries,  many  of  which  have  been  extended 
so  as  to  cover  the  images  belonging  to  other  senses 
than  that  of  sight.  Certain  pathological  facts,  pre- 
sented by  the  cases  of  persons  whose  normal  mental 
imagery  had  been  affected  by  brain  disease,  called 
attention,  a  few  years  after  the  publication  of  Galton's 
study,  to  the  importance  of  comparing  the  promi- 
nence which  the  imagery  of  one  sense  had  in  a  life 
of  any  given  person,  with  the  importance  possessed 
by  the  imagery  of  other  senses. 

The  general  results  of  these  researches  have  been 
to  show  that  the  imagery  of  any  one  sense,  in  par- 
ticular   that    of    sight,    has   very   great   normal   varia- 


SENSITIVENESS  — MENTAL   IMAGERY  153 

tion  from  person  to  person.  While  in  general  the 
rule  holds  that  normal  mental  imagery  differs  in  a 
very  marked  fashion  from  the  experiences  produced 
through  the  direct  excitation  of  sense  organs,  it 
is  still  possible  [to  find  people  in  whom  the  visual 
images  seem  decidedly  comparable  in  clearness, 
in  vividness,  and  in  detail  to  the  original  sense  per- 
ception. In  many  such  persons  it  is  possible  to  see 
"  in  the  mind's  eye "  more  of  a  given  familiar  scene, 
such  as  the  interior  of  a  room,  than  could  be  seen 
from  any  one  point  of  view  in  actual  perception.  It 
is  as  if  various  images  coalesced  to  form  a  mental 
whole,  which  could  not  be  attained  in  any  one  act 
of  perception.  On  the  other  hand,  a  very  large  num- 
ber of  persons  have  visual  imagery  which  they  them- 
selves describe  as  very  much  less  clear  and  definite 
than  the  original  object ;  and  the  test  of  asking  such 
persons  questions  about  how  much  of  the  detail  of  a 
visualised  object  they  can  report,  if  the  test  be 
further  controlled  by  comparing  the  report  with  the 
original  object,  shows  very  decided  Hmitations  as  to 
the  minuteness  and  the  accuracy  of  the  images  that 
are  in  question.  A  familiar  test  takes  the  form  of 
asking  a  person  to  visualise  the  face  of  his  own 
watch,  and  then  to  answer  questions  about  the  figures 
on  the  watch  face,  and  the  position  of  the  dial  of  the 
second-hand  with  reference  to  these  figures.  Such 
tests  may  be  multiplied  indefinitely.     They  show  that 


154  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

a  large  number  of  persons  who  have  but  a  moderate 
vividness  and  clearness  of  visual  imagination  are 
conscious  of  images  which  are  decidedly  defective  (i) 
as  to  the  scope  of  the  field  which  they  can  get 
before  them  in  imagination,  (2)  as  to  the  brightness 
of  the  light  and  the  precise  shade  of  colour  in  this 
field,  and  (3)  as  to  the  minuteness  of  detail  which  is 
represented  in  the  image.  The  last  feature,  namely, 
the  minuteness  of  detail,  has  a  lower  limit  that,  in 
such  cases,  is  very  decidedly  low  when  it  is  compared 
with  the  normal  precision  of  actual  visual  perceptions. 
In  many  cases  of  a  poorer  visual  imagination,  i.e.  in 
the  lower  grades  of  the  scale  of  visual  imagination 
which  Galton  originally  set  up,  the  individual  objects, 
when  presented  to  the  visual  imagination,  appear  in 
a  blurred  and  fragmentary  way,  so  that  only  parts 
of  them  can  be  seen  at  once.  Thus,  for  example,  a 
decidedly  poor  visualiser  may  be  able  to  picture  at 
one  time  only  the  bowl  of  a  silver  spoon,  or  again 
only  a  part  of  its  handle,  but  never  the  whole  spoon 
at  once.  There  remain  a  considerable  number  of 
persons,  often  of  a  high  degree  of  intelligence  and 
mental  training,  who  have  almost  no  visual  images 
at  all,  and  whose  mental  imagery  is  made  up  entirely 
of  material  belonging  to  other  senses. 

It  is  difficult  to  get  sufficiently  exact  returns  from 
untrained  people  to  estimate  precisely  the  distribution 
of  these  various  classes  of  persons  in  the  community 


SENSITIVENESS  — MENTAL  IMAGERY  I  55 

at  large.  On  the  whole,  it  appears  that  children,  and 
young  people  generally,  possess  a  better  and  richer 
visual  imagination  than  the  same  people  are  likely 
to  possess  in  middle  life.  It  also  appears  that  women 
possess  a  better  visual  imagination  than  men.  The 
students  of  American  institutions  of  learning  appear 
on  the  whole  to  be  better  visualisers  than  the  English 
men  of  science,  of  whose  experiences  Galton  gives 
some  account  in  his  original  study.  How  far  the 
visual  imagination  can  be  trained,  or  prevented  through 
training  from  fading  away  in  middle  life,  is  not  yet 
known.  There  is  some  evidence  that  training  has 
less  effect  upon  the  type  of  one's  visual  memory  than 
some  sanguine  teachers  are  accustomed  to  suppose. 
At  all  events,  there  is  considerable  unlikelihood  that 
a  naturally  poor  visualiser  can  be  turned  into  a  very 
good  one  through  training. 

The  visual  imagery  is  predominant  over  the  imagery 
of  the  other  senses  in  a  very  great  number  of  people,  and 
this  fact  accounts  for  a  great  deal  of  the  usage  of 
language  when  the  imagination  is  in  question.  Those 
who  prefer  the  visual  images,  seem,  so  to  speak,  to  have 
had  possession  of  the  language ;  so  that  the  word  "image," 
derived  from  visual  experiences,  is  the  only  one  at  our  dis- 
posal in  the  description  of  this  type  of  mental  processes; 
while  the  expressions  concerning  "  mental  vision,"  "clear- 
ness of  insight,"  and  the  rest,  which  are  so  common 
in    popular   language    in    describing    mental    imagery. 


156  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

show  that  the  experiences  of  the  visualisers  have  come 
to  be  treated  as  if  they  were  the  only  characteristic 
types  of  mental  imagery.  But,  as  a  fact,  there  exist 
images  belonging  to  the  sense  of  sound,  and  to  the 
types  of  sensory  experience,  muscular,  organic,  etc., 
in  terms  of  which  we  recall  our  movements.  Images 
of  the  sense  of  smell  have  been  declared  by  some 
psychologists  to  be  very  rare ;  but  there  are  indications 
in  the  reports  of  some  collectors  of  facts  which  seem  to 
point  in  the  contrary  direction,  although  it  is  obvious 
that  such  images  are  usually  very  subordinate.  Images 
of  taste  appear  most  markedly  in  association  with  pres- 
ent sense  perception,  as  when  the  sight  of  an  apple 
known  to  be  sour,  or  of  vinegar,  arouses  the  image  of 
the  sour  taste.  Yet  in  this  case  the  taste  image  is 
probably  much  mingled  with  other  forms  of  sensory 
experience. 

Two  types  of  persons  have  come  to  be  especially 
noted  in  the  literature  of  the  subject  as  those  in  whom 
some  other  form  of  sense  imagery  is  more  prominent 
than  the  visual  imagery.  These  two  types  are  (i)  the 
auditory  type,  in  whom  images  of  sounds  predominate ; 
and  (2)  the  motor  type,  perhaps  better  to  be  called  the 
verbal-motor  type,  in  whom  the  predominant  imagery 
takes  the  form  of  images  of  movement,  together  with 
images  partly  motor  in  type,  but  partly  also  auditory, 
of  words.  The  third  of  these  types  seems  to  be,  at  least 
under  modern  conditions  of  training,  and  in  middle  life, 


SENSITIVENESS— MENTAL   IMAGERY  I  57 

decidedly  common,  although  also  decidedly  inferior  in 
number  to  the  more  or  less  skilful  visualisers  whose 
visual  imagery  predominates  in  their  own  experience. 
The  motor  type  image  their  world  especially  in  terms 
either  of  the  movements  that  they  themselves  tend  to 
make  in  the  presence  of  things,  or,  in  particular,  in  terms 
of  the  words  which  they  use  in  naming  and  in  describ- 
ing things.  Much  less  skilful  than  the  good  visualisers 
in  seizing  upon,  and  retaining  the  visible  details  of 
objects,  they  may  be  more  skilful  than  some  fairly 
good  visualisers  in  forming  precise  ideas  of  the  space 
relations  of  objects.  In  consequence,  they  are  often 
skilful  in  noting  those  various  more  abstractly  definable 
characters  of  things  which  can  either  be  interpreted  in 
terms  of  motor  experience  or  fittingly  described  in  words. 
§  59.  The  relation  of  our  mental  imagery  to  the 
higher  mental  processes  must  be  indicated  in  passing, 
even  before  we  reach  the  study  of  mental  docility.  All 
our  higher  mental  processes,  in  so  far  as  they  occur  at 
any  present  moment,  and  in  so  far  as  they  do  not  con- 
sist merely  of  sensory  experiences  and  of  feelings,  must 
involve  mental  imagery.  Whatever  the  mental  signifi- 
cance of  a  thought,  however  far-reaching  its  scope,  how- 
ever vast  its  meaning,  it  must,  as  a  present  thought,  be 
embodied  in  a  consciousness  either  of  objects  present  to 
the  senses  or  of  objects  present  as  images.  The  sen- 
sory experience  and  the  imagery,  of  any  moment,  when 
taken  together  with  the  state  of  feeling  of  that  moment, 


158  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

constitute  the  mental  material  of  the  moment ;  and  that, 
too,  whether  we  are  thinking  of  the  loftiest  or  of  the 
most  trivial  matters.  The  cultivation  of  the  right  men- 
tal imagery  consequently  constitutes  a  very  important 
aspect  of  mental  training. 

It  is  to  be  noted,  however,  that  our  current  mental 
imagery  is  normally  by  no  means  independent,  either 
of  our  sense  perceptions,  or  of  our  motor  reactions. 
When  we  are  engaged  in  the  ordinary  processes  of 
external  perception,  the  sensory  experiences  and  the 
images  of  the  moment  are  usually  very  intimately 
associated,  so  as  to  appear  closely  welded  together. 
So  it  is  when  the  sight  of  an  edged  tool  is  associated 
with  the  images  of  a  possible  cut  to  be  received  from 
it,  or  when  the  perception  of  a  tennis-racket  arouses 
the  motor  images  which  have  their  origin  in  the  move- 
ments made  when  one  used  it.  Even  those  trains  of 
images  which  the  reading  of  a  story  arouses  have  a 
similar  connection  with  the  sense  impressions  made  by 
the  printed  page  as  one  reads ;  and  the  trains  of 
imagery  which  seem  most  independent  of  present 
sense  perceptions  (as  in  case  of  revery,  when  one 
stares  into  the  fire  or  is  in  the  dark)  are  still  con- 
nected with  the  sense  impressions  produced  by  the 
firelight,  or  by  the  disturbances  of  the  retinal  field  in 
the  dark,  or  by  organic  sensory  experiences.  It  follows 
that  the  training  of  the  ifnaginatioji  cannot  normally 
occur  apart  from  a  fitting  training  of  the  senses.     For 


SENSITIVENESS— MENTAL  IMAGERY  1 59 

not  only  are  our  imaginations,  in  general,  due  to  re- 
vivals of  the  effects  left  by  former  sensory  experiences, 
but  the  revival  itself  has  relations  to  present  sensory 
experience  which  we  shall  later  mention  in  connection 
with  mental  docility.  The  lesson  of  these  obvious  con- 
siderations has  been  neglected  by  those  who  have  en- 
deavoured to  cultivate  certain  forms  of  abstract  thought, 
or  of  religious  imagination,  or,  in  general,  of  meditation, 
apart  from  a  due  attention  to  the  connection  between 
normal  images  and  normal  present  sense  experiences. 

Less  frequently  noticed  is  tJie  connection  between  scfi- 
sory  images  and  our  motor  respofise  to  our  cfivironment . 
This  connection  appears,  with  special  evidence,  in  the 
case  of  our  motor  images  themselves.  When  in  pres- 
ence of  familiar  objects,  such  as  our  pen,  our  watch, 
our  knife,  our  dictionary,  or  our  bunch  of  keys,  we 
examine  the  images  that  these  objects  awaken  in  us 
as  we  observe  them,  we  may  often  find  images  of  a 
more  or  less  obviously  motor  type  —  images  which  take 
the  form  of  tendencies  to  conceive  to  ourselves  certain 
famiUar  acts  which  these  objects  call  up  in  our  minds. 
Thus  the  pen  may  arouse  the  image  of  grasping  the 
pen  for  the  purpose  of  writing,  the  knife  may  suggest 
cutting,  and  so  on.  Especially  common  is  the  presence 
of  a  word-image  at  the  moment  when  we  observe  an 
object  whose  name  we  for  any  reason  find  it  at  all  con- 
venient to  recall.  Such  an  image  stands  for  the  fact 
that  we  actually  begin  the  motor  reaction  of   naming 


l60  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

the  object.  It  is  not,  however,  necessary  that  the 
images  recalled  in  the  presence  of  an  object  should  be 
explicit  motor  images  in  order  that  they  should  be 
nevertheless  related  to  the  acts  which  the  objects  tend 
to  arouse  in  us.  At  the  sight  of  a  steamboat  that  plies 
upon  a  lake  or  river  known  to  me,  I  at  once  may  be- 
gin to  image,  perhaps  in  visual  form,  scenes  and  other 
experiences  that  I  have  had  as  a  tourist  on  that  boat. 
But  these  images  themselves  very  likely  stand  for  a 
tendency  now  present  in  my  consciousness  to  become 
again  a  voyager  on  the  boat,  and  if  I  am  at  leisure, 
such  images  may  erelong  give  place  to  the  actual 
motor  process  of  buying  a  ticket  and  going  on  board 
the  boat.  Furthermore,  a  vast  number  of  images,  vis- 
ual as  well  as  motor,  relate  to  our  anticipations  of 
future  events.  But  these  anticipations  generally  go  along 
with  tendencies  to  prepare  for  the  future  events  by  07te 
or  another  sort  of  action.  In  brief,  the  whole  normal  life 
of  our  imagination  has  a  most  intimate  co7inection  to  our 
conduct,  and  should  not  be  studied  apart  from  conduct. 
The  central  processes  which  our  images  accompany 
form  themselves  a  part  of  our  reaction  to  our  environ- 
ment, and  our  more  organised  series  of  mental  images 
actually  form  part  of  our  conduct.  This  aspect  of  the 
matter  is  one  which  many  psychological  studies  of  our 
mental  imagery  lead  us  altogether  too  much  to  neg- 
lect. And  many  teachers  suppose  that  to  train  the 
imagination  of  children  involves  something  quite  dif- 


SENSITIVENESS— MENTAL   IMAGERY  l6l 

ferent  from  training  their  motor  processes.  But  the 
normal  imagination  of  healthy  children  is  likely  to  get 
a  rich  expression  in  the  form  of  their  plays,  of  their 
dramatic  impersonations,  of  their  story-teUing,  and  of 
their  questions  about  things.  And  the  most  wholesome 
trainmg  of  the  imagmatioii  is  properly  to  be  carried  out 
in  connection  with  the  training  of  conduct. 

As  is  seen  from  the  foregoing,  the  term  "  imagina- 
tion "  is  most  conveniently  used  as  a  name  for  the 
sum  total  of  the  mental  processes  that  express  them- 
selves in  our  mental  imagery.  When  used  psychologi- 
cally, the  word  "  imagination  "  conveys  no  implication 
that  the  mental  imagery  in  question  stands  for  unreal 
or  for  merely  fantastic  objects.  All  mental  imagery 
results  from  former  sensory  experience.  Why  images 
arise  in  the  order  in  which  they  do  arise  is  a  question 
whose  answer  belongs  under  the  head  of  our  Mental 
Docility.  As  a  consequence  of  the  general  character 
of  all  our  mental  imagery,  our  images  tend  to  be 
decidedly  imperfect  representatives  of  real  objects, 
and  may  be  very  highly  fantastic.  But  the  estimate 
of  the  value  of  our  images  is  an  estimate  founded  very 
much  more  on  the  consideration  of  the  sort  of  conduct 
which  results  from  their  presence,  than  from  any  direct 
estimate  of  their  value  as  pictures  of  objects.  Good 
im.agery  is  that  which  leads  us  to  correct  opinions  and 
to  useful  conduct,  as  well  as  to  harmlessly  agreeable 
and  satisfactory  states  of  consciousness  in  general. 

M 


1 62  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

In  training  the  imagination,  a  decided  respect  has 
to  be  paid  to  the  varieties  of  types  of  mental  images 
which  have  now  been  mentioned.  The  teacher  who 
endeavours  to  train  all  pupils  as  if  they  were  alike  good 
visualisers,  will  indeed,  in  view  of  the  fact  that  the 
good  visualizers  are  numerous,  obtain  many  successes. 
But  he  will  be  likely  to  regard  as  stupid  those  pupils 
who  perhaps  are  defective  only  in  the  peculiar  type  of 
mental  imagery  which  he  asks  them  to  use.  There  are 
some  branches  of  early  education,  especially  spelling, 
whose  successful  acquisition  must  to  a  considerable 
extent  depend  upon  the  choice,  on  the  pupil's  part,  of 
the  right  sort  of  mental  imagery  for  the  retaining  of 
the  desired  facts.  What  the  right  sort  is,  will  depend 
upon  whether  such  a  pupil  is  rather  of  the  visual,  of 
the  auditory,  or  of  the  motor  type.  For  this  will 
determine  whether  he  most  readily  learns  to  spell  by 
eye,  by  ear,  or  by  means  of  the  use  of  his  tongue.  In 
cases  where  the  pupil  himself  finds  difficulty  in  choosing 
the  right  imagery,  the  teacher  may  do  well  to  take 
pains  to  discover  something  of  what  his  type  of 
imagination  is,  and  direct  his  attention  accordingly. 

^  0, 

■   «  f 

t 


(M 


r 


CHAPTER  VII 

Sensitiveness 

c.  the  feelings 

§  60.  We  now  come  to  that  aspect  of  our  mental 
sensitiveness  which  is  the  one  most  immediately  inter- 
esting to  ourselves,  and  also  the  one  that,  psychologi- 
cally speaking,  still  remains  the  most  obscure.  This 
is  the  aspect  which  is  sometimes  known  by  the  name 
of  the  Feelings.  Owing  to  the  ambiguous  way  in 
which  the  word  "feeling"  is  used  in  popular  language, 
some  psychologists  have  preferred  to  speak  of  the 
"  affective  aspect  "  of  our  mental  life.  The  term  "affec- 
tion," used  in  a  technical  sense,  has  also  been  employed 
for  this  aspect  of  our  mental  life.  In  speaking,  in 
our  introduction,  of  the  signs  of  mental  life,  we  have 
already  called  attention  to  the  aspect  of  consciousness 
which  is  here  in  question.  It  is  the  aspect  which 
becomes  extremely  prominent  in  case  of  very  notable 
pleasures  or  pains  due  to  our  sense  experience.  It  is 
the  aspect  also  very  marked  in  all  our  eipotional  life. 
It  is  also  the  aspect  upon  which  our  immediate  sense 
of  the  present  worth  or  value  of  our  conscious  states 
as  they  appear  to  ourselves  must  always  rest. 

163 


1 64  ■       OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

It  is  plain  that  this  aspect  of  our  consciousness  has 
a  very  close  relation  to  our  activities,  since  both  the 
attainment  of  pleasant  or  of  satisfactory  feelings,  and 
the  avoidance  of  painful  states,  constitute  important 
factors  in  the  determination  of  our  conduct.  Those 
who  divide  mental  life,  in  the  well-known  traditional 
way,  into  the  life  of  cognition,  the  Ufe  of  feeUng,  and 
the  life  of  will,  are  accustomed  to  assign  to  the  feelings 
a  stage  intermediate  between  the  life  of  cognition  and 
the  life  of  will.  From  this  point  of  view  our  cognitive 
consciousness  first  furnishes  to  us  facts.  In  terms  of 
our  feelings  we  estimate  the  values  of  these  facts  for 
us.  In  view  of  these  values  our  acts  are  determined. 
That  this  traditional  view  has  a  real  significance  can- 
not be  questioned.  But  in  the  present  exposition  of 
the  structure  and  laws  of  consciousness  we  are  not  at  all 
closely  following  the  lines  of  the  traditional  exposition. 

From  our  present  point  of  view  all  consciousness 
without  exceptio7t  may  be  considered  as  accompanying 
our  actSy  or  at  all  evejits  as  taking  place  side  by  side 
with  the  tendencies  to  action,  which  are  at  any  moment 
aroused  within  our  organism.  And  thus  all  conscious- 
ness without  exceptio7i  m^ight  be  considered  as  an  expres- 
sion  of  the  will,  since  that  of  which  we  are  aware  is 
always  related,  in  our  own  minds,  to  some  tendency 
on  our  part  to  act  thus  or  thus.  Furthermore,  in  so 
far  as  our  consciousness  is  an  expression  of  our  sensi- 
tiveness to  the  disturbances  which  the  environment  pro- 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE   FEELINGS  1 65 

duces,  02ir  whole  consciojcsness  has  a  cognitive  aspect. 
And  since  our  consciousness  is  related,  as  we  shall 
later  see,  not  only  to  the  present  state,  but  to  the 
acquired  habits  of  our  organism,  or  in  other  words  is 
a  result  of  our  docility,  our  co7iscioiisness  has  no  vol- 
tmtary  aspect  that  is  not  also  in  sojne  respects  a  cog7iitive 
aspect.  Since  the  feelings  form  a  part  of  a  consciousness  ^ 
which  is  thns  always  more  or  less  obviously  both  cog7ii- 
tive  and  volitional,  the  feelings  can  hardly  be  regarded 
as  a  link  binding  together  two  relatively  distinct  phases 
of  consciousness,  namely,  the  cognitive  and  the  volun- 
tary. For  us,  in  this  discussion,  the  feelings,  in  so  far 
as  they  are  present,  are  phases  of  our  present  m^ental 
sensitiveness.  In  what  sense  they  have  a  cognitive 
significance  we  can  better  see  in  a  later  portion  of 
our  discussion.  Their  volitional  significance  will  also 
come  to  light  more  clearly  in  later  connections.  We 
are  concerned  with  them  at  present  in  so  far  as  they 
stand  side  by  side  with  our  sensory  experiences,  as  an 
aspect  of  our  present  conscious  response  to  the  situation 
in  which  at  any  moment  we  find  ourselves. 

§  61.  In  view  of  our  attitude  toward  the  doctrine 
of  mental  elements,  it  is  no  part  of  our  present  task 
to  look  for  elementary  feelings,  and  to  give  a  catalogue 
of  these  before  showing  how  they,  in  connection  with 
other  elements,  enter  into  our  more  complex  conscious 
Hfe.  While  some  of  the  feelings  can  be  more  or  less 
definitely  isolated   by  means   of    psychological   experi- 


1 66  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

ment,  the  motives  that  make  a  catalogue  of  the  sen- 
sations a  convenient  preliminary  to  the  study  of  the 
sensory  side  of  our  present  consciousness  do  not  exist, 
in  the  present  state  of  experimental  psychology,  in 
nearly  the  same  degree,  in  case  of  the  affective  aspect 
of  consciousness.  For  the  isolated  feelings  that  can 
be  produced, — not,  indeed,  in  absolute  isolation,  but  in 
connection  with  certain  simple  sense  experiences,  such 
as  odours,  tastes,  and  sounds, — for  the  purposes  of  ex- 
perimental observation,  form  but  a  small  portion  of 
our  affective  life,  and  do  not,  as  in  case  of  the  sensa- 
tions, furnish  to  us  anywhere  nearly  an  exhaustive 
list  of  the  qualities  of  feelings  which  our  ordinary  ex- 
perience seems  to  furnish.  On  the  whole  we  are  there- 
fore still  forced  to  accept,  in  the  case  of  the  feelings, 
accounts  and  analyses  which  are  but  very  imperfectly 
subjected  to  experimental  control. 

Our  ordinary  consciousness  very  frequently  distin- 
guishes within  its  own  unity,  between  the  facts  of 
which  we  are  aware,  and  the  present  value  that  these 
facts  seem  to  us  to  possess.  This  present  value,  for 
instance,  —  the  pleasurable  or  painful  character  of  a 
sound,  or  of  a  sensory  experience  of  touch,  —  we  learn 
to  refer,  in  our  ordinary  life,  to  the  relation  of  the  object 
to  ourselves.  My  suffering  does  not  belong  to  the 
character  of  the  object  that  touches  or  burns  my  skin  ; 
but  as  I  am  accustomed  to  say  to  myself,  "  It  is  my 
suffering,  it  exists  alone  in  me."     Thus  my  sensory  ex- 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE   FEELINGS  167 

periences,  as  such,  tend  to  be  referred  to  objects,  the 
things  of  the  world  which  cause  them,  while  my  feel- 
ings appear  to  me  to  be  my  own.  This  aspect  of  the 
distinction  between  feeUngs  and  other  experiences 
can  be  fully  justified  and  described  only  on  the  basis 
of  a  theory  of  what  I  mean  by  myself.  And  such  a 
theory  cannot  be  assumed  at  the  outset  of  psychology 
as  a  means  of  furnishing  a  sufficient  account  of  the 
true  nature  of  feeling.  Yet  it  is  an  important  feature 
of  the  feeHngs  that,  when  we  have  once  developed  our 
notion  of  the  difference  between  the  self  and  the 
world,  we  refer  feelings  especially  to  the  self  rather 
than  to  the  world  without  the  self.  This  "  subjective  " 
character  of  feeling  is  used  by  many  psychologists  as 
a  means  of  defining  its  essential  nature. 

§  62.  If  we  look  for  a  simpler  criterion  of  what  we 
mean  by  feeling,  it  seems  worth  while  to  point  out 
that  by  feelings  7ve  mean  simply  our  ^presmt^^usitit'tmss 
to  the  vahies^jif^  tJmigs  in  so  far  as  -these-values  are 
directly  present  to  consciousness.  My  feelings  do  not 
assure  me  of  what  the  ethical,  or  the  scientific,  or  the 
otherwise  remote  value  of  an  object  may  be.  But  as 
they  pass,  my  feelings  tell  me  what  is  the  seeming  pres- 
ent value  of  this  state  of  consciousness,  or  of  this  com- 
plex of  states  of  consciousness,  as  the  contents  of 
consciousness  pass  before  me.  The  question.  What 
aspects  of  feeli?igSy  or  of  zvhat  kinds  of  feelings  exist  ? 
therefore  reduces  itself  to  the  question,  In  what  way 


1 68  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

do  our  states  of  consciousness  seem  to  tis,  as  they  pasSy 
to  possess  a  present  and  immediate  value  ?  The  icsual 
answer  to  this  question  in  the  psychological  text-books 
is,  that  the  present  values  of  our  conscious  states,  the 
present  kinds  of  feelings,  can  be  reduced  to  tzvo  opposed 
kindSy  either  one  of  which  may  predominate,  or  be 
alone  present,  as  the  one  immediate  value  of  a  passing 
state,  at  any  present  moment,  ^he  two  types  of  feel- 
Zing  in  question  are  often  called  Pleasure  and  Pain, 
(or  again  the  Agreeable  and  the  Disagreeable,  or 
i  again  Pleasure  and  Displeasure,  or  the  Pleasant  and  the 
HJnpleasant.  It  is  often  said  that  only  feelings  of  these 
two  kinds  exist.  The  further  question  whether  there 
exist,  under  each  of  these  kinds,  subordinate  types  (for 
example  whether  there  exist  pleasures  of  various  kinds 
which  cannot  be  reduced  one  to  another),  is  a  question 
about  which  great  difference  of  opinion  has  existed. 
The  well-known  theory  thus  defined  denies,  however,  in 
any  case,  the  existence  of  any  other  essentially  differ- 
ent kinds  of  feelings  except  those  of  pleasure  and  of 
displeasure. 

This  theory  seems  at  first  to  meet  with  a  very  obvious 
\  obstacle,  so  soon  as  an  effort  is  made  to  apply  it  to  the 
A  case  of  our  more  highly  complicated  affective  states, 
such  as  our  moods,  our  emotions,  and  our  passions. 
But  here,  in  many  modern  text-books,  the  already  con- 
sidered theory  that  our  consciousness  is  composed  of 
mental  elements,  in  connection  with  a  certain  result  of 


SENSITIVENESS— THE   FEELINGS  169 

the  habits  of  introspective  analysis  which  experimental 
psychology  has  trained,  comes  to  the  aid  of  the  partisan 
of  the  pleasure-pain  theory  of  the  feelings.  Our  emo- 
tions, viz.,  when  carefully  studied,  prove  to  be,  in  large 
measure,  sensory  experiences.  By  analysis  we  become 
more  or  less  able  to  substitute  for  a  complex  emotional 
condition  an  analysed  mental  state,  or  a  series  of  such 
states,  wherein  we  take  note  of  the  sensory  elements 
that,  as  the  usual  theory  insists,  are  present  in  our 
ordinary  and  unanalysed  emotions.  For  such  a  view, 
an  emotion  consists  of  elements  due  to  organic  sefisatiojis, 
these  elements  being  joiyied  very  closely  with  a  vast  com- 
plex of  elements  of  the  pleasnre-pain  type.  Thus,  in  case 
of  anger  we  have  complexes  of  sensations  due  to  the 
organic  excitement  which  accompanies  the  emotion  — 
sensations  of  choking  in  the  throat,  sensations  of  the 
violent  beating  of  the  heart,  sensations  due  to  the  ac- 
tive movements  which  express  anger,  etc.  It  is  said 
that,  if  we  abstract  from  our  ideas  of  the  object  which 
arouses  our  anger,  and  from  these  various  masses  of 
organic  sensory  experience,  there  remains  in  the  emo- 
tions, as  the  aspect  constituting  our  present  sense  of  the 
value  of  our  state,  only  the  pleasure-pain  aspect.  Anger 
is  very  generally  a  painful  emotion.  Some  stages  of  it, 
however,  may  be  relatively  pleasant.  Similar  analyses, 
it  is  asserted,  will  hold  true  of  such  emotions  as  fear, 
love,  joy,  or  of  the  relatively  placid  moods  such  as  ac- 
company our  unexcited  mental  condition.     Thus  there 


I/O  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

would  remain,  as  the  essential  kinds  of  feeling,  pleasure 
and  pain. 

In  order  to  complete  the  general  statement  of  the 
analysis  of  feeling  thus  attempted,  it  remains  only  to 
^ote  the  fact  that  the  word  "  pain,"  as  used  in  ordinary 
'ianguage,  is  somewhat  ambiguous.  It  is  very  often 
used  to  name  certain  se7isations,  which  have  already 
been  mentioned  in  our  catalogue  of  the  elementary 
sensory  experiences.  It  is  also  used  to  name  the  pain- 
ful, i.e.  the  unpleasant  or  disagreeable  feelmgs.  Now 
in  many  of  our  more  ideal  sorrows,  and  in  many  of  the 
feelings  associated  even  with  our  direct  sensory  experi- 
ences, there  is  no  kind  of  sensation  of  pain.  On  the 
other  hand,  the  sufferings  due  to  an  intestinal  disorder, 
or  to  a  burn,  have  a  close  connection  with  sensations  of 
pain,  or  with  sensory  experiences,  that,  from  the  point 
of  view  of  the  usual  theory,  are  complexes  of  such  sen- 
sations. When  a  disagreeable  comibination  of  colours,  or 
an  otherwise  offensive  object  of  decorative  art,  gives  us 
displeasure,  the  sensations  present,  or  the  sensory  ex- 
periences, are  of  a  totally  different  character  from  those 
present  when  we  are  aware  of  a  burn  or  of  an  intestinal 
suffering.  There  are  no  sensations  of  pain  amongst  the 
purely  visual  experiences.  But  the  intestinal  suffering 
and  the  burn  agree  with  the  disagreeable  aesthetic 
experience  in  so  far  as  painful,  i.e.  unpleasant  feeling 
enters  into  both,  i.e.  in  so  far  as  both  are  more  or  less 
intolerable  to  us.     In  the  same  way  an  ideal  sorrow 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE  FEELINGS  171 

is  disagreeable,  but  it  is  not  necessarily  accompanied 
with  any  sensations  of  pain.  If  once  the  ambiguity 
in  the  use  of  the  word  "pain  "  is  detected,  and  the  word 
is  used  as  the  name  for  unpleasant  feelings,  not  as  the 
name  for  painful  sensory  experiences,  the  theory  here 
in  question  receives  a  statement  which  avoids  all  unnec- 
essary misunderstanding. 

As  regards  that  aspect  of  the  theory  thus  stated 
which  involves  the  doctrine  that  consciousness  is  com- 
posed of  simple  elements,  we  of  course  need  here  make 
no  new  comments.  For  our  present  purpose  the  issue 
is,  whether  the  aspects  which  give  our  consciousness  its 
present  and  passing  value  are  sufficiently  described  by 
classifying  tJiem  into  two  kinds,  and  whether  these  two 
kinds  are  sufficiently  characterised  by  the  names  Pleas- 
ure and  Pain,  or  by  the  somewhat  less  ambiguous 
names.  Agreeable  and  Disagreeable,  or  Pleasant  and 
Unpleasant. 

§  63.  It  will  be  noticed  in  any  case  that  the  feelings, 
as  thus  characterised,  are  divided  into  two  ajitagonistic 
groups.  Whether  we  can  at  once  be  conscious  of  the 
presence  of  agreeable  and  disagreeable  objects,  i.e. 
whether  we  can  at  once  enjoy  and  suffer,  or  find  our 
present  state  agreeable  and  disagreeable  (as  Juliet 
seems  to  do  when  she  calls  parting  **  such  sweet  sor- 
row "),  this  is  a  question  concerning  which  opinions 
somewhat  differ.  But  nobody  can  doubt  that  there  is  a 
distinct  opposition  between  our  sense  of  the  agreeable 


/ 


172  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

and  our  sense  of  the  disagreeable,  so  that,  in  so  far  as 
we  tend  to  find  something  disagreeable,  we  at  least  tend 
to  exclude  finding  it  then  and  there  agreeable.  In  other 
^words,  pleasure  and  pain,  as  antagonistic  values,  tend  to 
\jcclude  each  the  other.  The  feelings  thus  have  a  char- 
acter which  does  not  to  any  similar  extent  belong  to  the 
sensory  experiences.  Colours  are  not  antagonistic  to 
sounds.  And  both  are  consistent  with  experiences  of 
touch  and  of  movement.  But  pleasures  war  with  pains, 
and  where  one  conquers  the  other  is  abolished. 

And  now  according  to  the  theory  here  in  question, 
the  same  also  holds  true  as  to  the  relation  of  the  feelings 
to  our  voluntary  actions.  Pleasure^  it  is  said,  necessarily 
attracts  us,  so  that  we  tend  to  get  more  of  it.  Painful 
feeling  repels  us,  so  that  we  tend,  in  so  far  as  possible, 
to  remove  its  cause  from  consciousness  or  from  exist- 
ence, so  that  the  pain  may  cease.  The  two  sorts  of 
-<  {  antagonistic  feelings  are  thus  connected  with  antagonistic 
^^^^^te7tdencies  of  action.  And  as  there  are  only  two  kinds 
of  feeling,  so  there  are  also  only  two  antagonistic  sorts 
of  action,  —  the  sort  of  action  by  which  we  seek  to  ap- 
proach, to  retain,  to  get  more  of  an  object,  and  the  sort 
of  action  by  which  we  seek  to  get  away  from  an  object, 
or  to  destroy  it.  In  brief,  we  desire  the  pleasurable, 
we  show  aversion  toward  the  painful. 

And  finally,  as  this  theory  insists,  pleasurable  and 
painful  states  of  consciousness  are  respectively  associ- 
ated   with    antagonistic    organic    conditions.      Where 


% 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE   FEELINGS  1 73 

pleasurable  feeling  is  found,  the  organism  shows  vari- 
ous signs  of  present  heightened  vitality.  There  is  an 
expansiveness  and  a  vigour  about  the  whole  Hfe  which  is 
absent  in  case  of  painful  emotion.  On  the  other  hand, 
in  painful  emotion,  the  organism  tends  to  contract  in 
various  ways,  to  "  shrink,"  and,  in  the  long  run,  shows 
signs  of  lowered  vitality.  Thus  facts  relating  to  our 
actions,  as  well  as  those  relating  to  our  organic  conditions, 
tend  to  support  the  dual  theory  of  the  life  of  the  feelings. 
§  64.  Nevertheless,  after  all  this  has  been  said,  it 
remains  true  that  there  is  a  great  deal  about  the  com- 
plex life  of  the  feelings  which  seems  to  render  doubtful 
the  sufficiency  of  the  foregoing  dual  theory.  For  one 
thing,  we  are  frequently  conscious  of  an  attitude  toward 
objects  which  seems  to  give  them  at  once  more  than  one 
kind  of  value,  and  which  determines  value  in  other  than 
pleasure-pain  terms.  Thus,  we  may  find  a  situation 
painful,  and  yet  be  in  a  state  of  feeling  which  renders 
us  decidedly  averse  to  altering  what  is  essential  to  the 
situation,  even  for  the  sake  of  escaping  the  pain.  For 
instance,  the  sulky  child,  although  suffering  the  pangs 
I  bf  its  mood,  may  decline  to  accept  comfort,  apparently 
because  it  finds  the  pain  somehow  fascinating.  On  a 
far  higher  level,  the  mourner  may  refuse  a  proffered 
«7  and  comforting  distraction,  because  he  finds  his  sorrow 
for  some  reason  preferable  to  a  cheer  that  he  all  the 
'^while  knows  to  be  possible.  The  athlete,  the  military, 
^^/    and  the  moral  hero  may  all  of  them  agree  in  choosing  a 


5 


A 


174  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

sitiiatioji  which  involves  suffering,  although  they  dislike 
the  suffering.  For  they  find  this  very  suffering  itself  in 
some  wise  also  fascinating. 

In  order  to  explain  such  cases  of  complex  feeling, 
the  dual  theory  of  the  two  antagonistic  types  of  feeling 
finds  it  necessary,  either  to  suppose  that  pleasure  and 
pain  are  mixed  at  the  same  moment,  and  that  the 
I  J!)leasurableness  of  the  experience  which  attracts  us, 
despite  its  painfulness,  predominates  over  the  painful- 
ness  itself ;  or  else  to  assert  that  pleasurable  and  pain- 
ful aspects  of  a  situation,  or  of  an  object,  are  alternately 
presented  to  our  consciousness,  in  such  wise  that  we 
sometimes  find  agreeable  what  at  other  moments  we 
find  disagreeable;  while,  in  case  of  the  fascinating 
sorrows,  the  pleasurable  feelings  that  we  obtain  prove 
to  be  more  effective  in  directing  our  action  or  our 
attention  than  the  intervening  sufferings. 

But  to  both  these  ways  of  explaining  the  so-called 
mixed  feelings  some  objection  naturally  arises.  That 
the  pleasurable  and  painful  aspects  of  the  fascinating 
|but  miserable  experience  merely  alternate  in  conscious- 
ness seems  hardly  to  be  verified  by  introspection.  For 
here  the  whole  weight  of  the  evidence  furnished  by  the 
literature  of  sorrow,  by  the  poets,  the  autobiographers, 
and  the  other  confessors  of  human  experience,  who 
have  brooded  over  such  conditions  as  these,  and  have 
reported  them,  seems  to  be  in  favour  of  the  view  that  the 
mtixed  feelings  offer  ijtstances  of  actual  conflict,  within 


SENSITIVENESS— THE   FEELINGS  1 75 

the  conscious  fieldy  between  Opposed  feelings.  Such  con- 
flict is  reported  by  the  most  various  observers,  even  in 
cases  where  those  who  report  find  the  conflict  inexpHca- 
ble,  and  think  that  it  ought  not  to  exist.  On  the  other 
hand,  granting  that  various  conflicting  feeUngs  can 
at  once  be  found  present  in  the  same  consciousness,  it 
seems  somewhat  difficult  to  accept  the  view  that  the 
only  antagonism  present  is  that  between  the  pleasurable 
and  the  painful  aspects  of  the  object  of  consciousness. 
For  the  one  who  reports  such  conflict  is  likely  to  say 
that  what  he  finds  attractive,  he  also  finds  painful,  or 
that  what  he  delights  in,  that  he  also  in  some  fashion, 
and  at  the  same  time,  abhors  and  despises.  But  that 
the  one  aspect  is  in  such  wise  opposed  to  the  other, 
that  the  one  simply  tends  to  annul  the  other,  is  often 
not  reported.  One  is  very  conscious  of  being  pulled  in 
various  ways  at  once,  rather  than  of  the  fact  that  his 
conscious  account  has,  so  to  speak,  two  opposed  sides 
that  tend  to  balance  each  other.  For  the  rest,  we 
should  expect  pleasure  and  pain,  if  present  together  in 
equal  intensity,  to  come  to  consciousness  as  values  op 
posed  in  such  wise  that  the  sum  of  the  two  equal  an 
opposite  values  would  be  nothing  at  all.  But  the  report 
generally  is  that  the  opposing  values  present  are  so  to 
speak  incommensurate,  so  that  the  sense  in  which  the 
experience  is  pleasurable  is  simply  not  the  sense  in 
which  it  is  at  the  same  time  abhorrent.  The  account 
consequently  suggests  that  the  terms  "pleasure"  and 


1 


iy6  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

"  pain  "  may  be  made  by  the  theory  now  in  question  to 
cover  tendencies  of  feeling  which  are  really  not  of  two 
kinds  only,  but  of  more  than  two. 

§  65.  In  decidedly  recent  psychology,  the  great  ex- 
perimental psychologist  and  philosopher,  Wundt,  has 
been  led,  not  indeed  upon  the  basis  of  such  general 
considerations  as  this,  but  upon  the  basis  of  experi- 
mental investigations  (pursued  in  his  own  laboratory), 
to  a  theory  of  the  types  of  feeling  which  he  still  ad- 
vances in  a  somewhat  tentative  fashion,  but  which 
promises  to  throw  a  very  considerable  light  upon  the 
complex  facts  of  feeling.  According-  to  Wimdt^  the 
feelings,  which  he  views,  in  accordance  with  the  theory 
of  mental  elements,  as  consisting  of  a  vast  number  of 
different  elementary  states,  y<?r;/2  a  complex  whose  facts 
vary  in  three  differeiit  ^^  directions y  One  feeling  may 
differ  from  another  according  to  its  place  in  a  series 
whose  members  differ  according  to  any  one  of  these 
"directions,"  or  according  to  all  three  at  once.  The 
three  directions  are  those :  first,  of  the  pleasure-pain  or 
pleasant-unpleasant  series ;  second,  of  a  series  which 
Wundt  calls  the  "excitement-depression  series,"  and 
third,  of  the  "tension-relief  series."  There  are  some 
feelings  whose  place  is  in  a  single  one  of  these  series 
almost  wholly.  Thus  there  are  feelings  of  pleasure 
and  pain  purely,  which  have  no  place  in  the  other 
series.  Again,  there  are  feelings  of  excitement  and  of 
depression  which  are  neither  pleasurable    nor  painful. 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE   FEELINGS  1 77 

Finally,  there  are  feelings  of  tension  and  relief  which 
have  hardly  any  trace  of  the  two  other  characters.  But 
many  feelings,  even  very  elementary  ones,  have,  accord- 
ing to  Wundt,  two  or  all  three  of  these  characters 
at  once. 

In  view  of  the  facts  which  constitute  Wundt's  admit- 
tedly still  incomplete  evidence  for  his  three  "  directions  " 
of  feelings,  and  in  view  of  the  really  very  large  body  of 
inexact  but  impressive  evidence  on  the  subject  which 
the  literature  of  the  emotions  seems  to  contain,  I  am 
disposed  to  regard  it  as  decidedly  improbable  that  tJie 
dual  theory  of  the  feelings  gives  an  adequate  account 
of  the  phefiomena.  On  the  other  hand,  there  can  be  no 
doubt  of  the  great  difficulty  which  exists  in  distinguish- 
ing, in  introspective  analysis,  between  the  aspects  of 
sensory  experience  which  any  complex  state  of  feeling 
accompanies,  and  this  state  of  feeling  itself;  so  that 
we  have  indeed  to  admit  that  almost  any  account  of  the 
feelings  which  seeks  to  differentiate  them  from  the 
sensory  experiences  is  at  present  open  to  the  objection 
that  it  confuses  these  two  aspects  of  our  mental  life 
whenever  it  goes  beyond  the  dual  theory  in  its  account 
of  the  feelings. 
^>'  §  66.  Nevertheless,  it  seems  worth  while  to  attempt, 
in  the  present  connection,  a  tentative  view  of  the  nature 
of  the  feelings  —  a  view  which  shall  try  to  be  just  to 
the  classes  of  facts  that  the  literature  of  the  emotions, 
and  the  experiments  of  Wundt  seem,  in  very  different 

N 


^ 


i;8  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

ways,  to  emphasise.  I  venture,  then,  to  advance  the 
hypothesis  that  our  feelings  differ  from  one  another 
in  at  least  two  decidedly  distifict  and  relatively  indepen- 
dent ways,  while  I  am  uncertain  whether  Wundt's  three 
dimensions,  or  some  still  more  complex  account,  may 
not  prove  in  the  end  to  be  more  acceptable.  I  limit 
my  hypothesis  to  two  relatively  independent  "dimen- 
sions "  of  feeling,  only  because  at  least  so  fniich  varia- 
tion seems  very  probable,  while  more  "dimensions" 
seem  less  probable.  In  each  of  these  two  ways  in 
which  feeHngs  can  differ,  I  find  mutually  opposed 
kinds,  or  antagonistic  characters  of  feeling.  Firsty 
then,  feelings^. differ  as  to  their  pleasantness  and  U7i- 
pleasantness.  In  so  far  we  have  the  pleasure-pain 
dimension,  as  it  might  be  called,  of  the  variation  of  the 
feelings.  At  the  same  time  the  feelings  differ  as  being 
more  or  less  eitJier  feelings  of  restlessness  or  feelings  of 
quiescence.  By  restlessness  and  qidescence  I  mean  a 
>ort  of  antagonism  introspectively  easy  to  observe,  but 
on  the  other  hand  rather  easily  confounded  (as  I 
readily  admit)  with  those  aspects  of  sensory  experience 
which  guides  us  in  knowing  what  movements  we  are 
making.  By  a  feeling  of  restlessness  I  mean,  however, 
not  the  sensory  experience  of  movements  that  we  are 
actually  carrying  out,  '^mI  the  feeling  of  that  valne  of  our 
experience  which  makes  it'^ti  object  of  momentary  dis- 
content.  By  a  feeling  of  quiesdepce,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  do  not  mean  exclusively  such  a  feeling  as  is  associated 


SENSITIVENESS— THE   FEELINGS  1 79 

\^h  the  word  "  contentment "  when  that  word  is  op- 
posed to  the  word  **  discontent,"  because  by  the  word 
*' con'tentment "  language  has  come  to  mean  a  feeling  of 
quiesc&Kjce  which  is  a/so  one  of  pleasure ;  while  feel- 
ings of  quiescence,  as  I  shall  point  out  in  a  moment, 
may  be  relatively  painful.  The  word  "  quiescence " 
does,  howevek  fairly  express  my  meaning.  I  shall  now 
illustrate  the  w^s  in  which,  as  I  maintain,  feelings  can 
vary  i7i  eitJier  one\of  these  two  dimensions,  or  types  of 
variation,  in  such  fctsjiion  that  instead  of  two,  there  will 
be  at  least  four  principul  kinds  of  mixed  feeling  present 
in  various  states  of  consciousness,  as  well  as  two  pairs 
of  mutually  antagonistic,  unmixed  forms  of  feeling 
possible.  Ny 

'^  ^y.  First,  then,  to  call  attention  afresh  to  Pleasure 
and  Displeasure.  Pleasures  are  feelings  that  seem  to 
accompany  states  in  which  the  organism  is  being,  so 
to  speak,  built  up,  or  prevailingly  refreshed,  so  that  its 
vitality  is  for  the  moment  heighte^ted,  Pai?i  or  dis- 
pleasure, on  the  other  hand,  is  such  feeding  as  is  pre- 
dominant at  moments  when  the  organism  is  breaking 
dow7i,  or  is  being  lowered  in  vitality.  In  so  far,  pleas- 
ure and  displeasure  tend  to  reflect  a  condition  of  the 
organism  as  a  whole,  although  at  any  moment  they 
may,  in  my  opinion,  be  more  or  less  mixed,  just  be- 
cause the  processes  that  have  to  do  with  increase  and 
decrease  of  vitality  are  so  complex,  and  are  so  im\ 
perfectly   represented    in    consciousness.      Meanwhile, 


l80  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

^easure  and  displeasure,  when  they  appear,  are  aspects 
or  Qualities  of  conscious  states  in  so  far  as  they  are  7iow 
preseiH^  and  not  i^i  so  far  as  our  consciousness  emphasises 
the  changes  which  are  constantly  going  on  in  the  conscious 
field.         \ 

On  the  other  hand,  restlessness  and  quiescence  are 
sorts  of  feeli7ig^  that  have  to  do  zuith  our  consciousness^ 
not  of  any  partitular  movements ,  but  of  the  general  ten- 
dency  to  a  change\in  the  tnotor  processes  present  in  our 
organism.  In  conk:iousness  itself  these  feelings  there- 
fore  have  to  do  witflx  the  changing  or  te^nporal  aspects 
of  our  conscious  states}  We  tend  on  the  whole  to 
regard  with  restlessness  whatever  tendency  involves 
our  interest  in  immediatel}N  future  changes.  The  emo- 
tions of  expectation,  of  curiosity,  of  fear,  of  hope,  of 
suspense,  are  accordingly  especially  coloured  by  rest- 
less feelings.  On  the  other  N^and,  the  feelings  of 
quiescence  predominate  when  no,  change  is  notably 
interesting  to  us,  or  when  no  conscious  stress  is 
laid  upon  the  changes  that  are  occurring.  In  con- 
sequence, we  regard  the  past,  when  we  look  back  to 
it,  with  a  quiescence  which  we  do  not  generally  adopt 
toward  the  future.  The  complex  mood  called  "  fatal- 
ism"  is  one  in  which  all  happenings,  both  p^t  and 
future,    are   regarded   with    a   predominance    of    those 

1  A  similar  reference  of  the  feelings  of  excitement  and  depression,  and 
of  tension  and  relief,  to  the  temporal  aspect  of  consciousness,  appears 
in  Wundt's  theory. 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE   FEELINGS  l8l 

ouiescent  feelings  that  usually  predominate  when  we 
tmnk  of  the  past.  Hence  the  fatalist  views  the  future 
as\  having  the  same  value  for  his  feelin^^s  that  the 
irrevocable  past  already  has.  Again,  quiescent  feelings 
pred^^nin^te  both  when  we  approach  sleep,  and  when 
we  suffer  fi;^om  marked  and  long-continued  physical 
depression.  (Sm  the  other  hand,  restless  feelings  pre- 
dominate when  we  are  wide  awake,  or  when  the  stored 
energies  of  the  orgaToism  are  in  a  condition  which  dis- 
poses them  to  rapid  and  vigorous  discharge.  What 
is  commonly  called  active  attention,  as  when  we  listen 
intently  for  a  faint  sound,  is  characterised  by  feelings 
of  restlessness.  On  the  other  hand,  the  so-called  pas- 
sive states  of  one  who  helplessly  observes  a  present 
object  is  characterised  by  a  predominance  of  quiescent 
feelings.  \^ 

The  restless  and  the  quiescent  feelings  may,  and  in 
general  do,  colour  particular  sensory  experiences.  That 
is,  we  may  be  prominently  conscious  of  the  sensory 
experience,  and  of  what  it  means,  and  may,  at  the 
same  time,  be  aware  of  its  value  as  one  whfch  arouses 
us  to  restless  activity,  or  which  leaves  us  quiescent. 
On  the  other  hand,  it  seems  to  me  an  inadequate  state- 
ment to  identify  our  feeling  of  restlessness  with  the 
sensory  experience  that  informs  us  of  what  movement 
we  are  making  at  a  moment  when  we  are  active.  \We 
are  restless  iyi  so  far  as  zve  are  actively  dissatisfied  wHji 
a  prese?tt  experience,  and  are  so  disposed  to  change  thd^ 


1 82  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

txpcrie7ice.  The  result  of  this  dissatisfaction  will  in 
general  be  a  consciousness  of  movement.  While  the 
movement  is  going  on,  every  stage  of  it  will  be  some- 
what urisatisfactory,  and  our  consciousness  will  be 
one  of  resHessness.  But  our  consciousness  that  we  ai-e 
moving  is  a  sensory  experience.  Our  consciousness  that 
we  all  the  while  feel  restless,  or  disposed  to  7nove^  con- 
stitutes the  feeling  here  in  question.  This  feeling 
makes  us  aware  of  the  value  of  our  present  state, 
which  in  case  of  restlessness  is  a  value  that  we  desire 
momentarily  to  change. 

§  68.  And  now  for  th^  relation  between  the  pleasure- 
pain  dimension  of  the  feedings  and  the  second  dimen- 
sion, that  of  restlessness  and  quiescence.  It  is  true 
that,  as  the  customary  view  says,  we  never  wholly 
*'  acquiesce  "  in  presence  of  pain  or  of  the  disagreeable. 
On  the  other  hand,  there  are  sufferings  which  leave  us 
relatively  quiescent,  while  there  are  sufferings  which 
are  accompanied  with  vigorous  restlessness.  When  a 
physical  pain  begins,  we  are  restless),  and  our  feelings 
include  those  usually  called  rebellious.  \  After  hours  of 
suffering,  we  may  remain  still  as  clearl^  conscious  of 
the  pain  as  ever,  and  quite  as  ready  as  ever  to  call  it 
intolerable.  That  is,  our  unpleasant  feeli^  is  as 
notable  as  ever.  But  we  may  find  ourselve^^s^vei'y 
much  less  disposed  to  any  present  tendency  to  change 
our  situation.  We  then  fall  into  the  state  of  passive 
suffering.     We  even  feel  that  we  could  not  do  anything. 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE    FEELINGS  1 83 

that  we  have  no  tendency  to  strive  against  the  pain. 
In  this  case,  we  combine  suffering  with  quiescence  of 
feeling\  The  emotion  called  "despair"  is  a  classic 
instance  6f  such  an  union  of  unpleasant  feeling  with 
predominantly  quiescent  feeling.  Various  classes  of 
nervous  suffer^  confess  such  an  union  of  pain  and 
quiescence  as  sohiething  which  they  themselves  find 
puzzling.  The  apathetic  stages  of  nervous  exhaustion 
may  furnish  instances  6f  what  the  patient  describes  as 
great  suffering,  but  as  misery  against  which  he  has  no 
conscious  tendency  to  conteiid. 

On  the  other  hand,  pleasure  may  be  of  the  restless 
type.  In  this  case,  although  zve  like  what  we  have,  we 
are  dissatisfied  with  the  situatiofi,  avd  restlessly  seek  for 
more.  In  active  temperaments  and  st^ates  of  mind  this 
character  of  pleasant  feelings  becomes  very  prominent; 
hence  those  observations  of  the  dis satisfy iiig  character 
of  the  pleasures  which  are  found  so  richly  scattered 
through  the  writings  of  poets  and  moralists.  They 
rest,  I  think,  upon  the  basis  of  a  sound  introspection. 
But  the  ordinary  dual  theory  of  the  feelings  offers  no 
sufficient  account  of  their  significance.  Goethe's  Faust 
makes  a  wager  with  the  Devil  which  is  substantially  to 
the  effect  that  Faust  is  ready  to  give  up  his  soul  to  ^e 
adversary,  whenever  the  latter  can  furnish  to  him 
satisfying  pleasure,  i.e.  a  pleasure  that  he  desires  to 
keep  at  the  very  moment  when  he  has  it.  The  signal 
that  this  result  has  been  reached  is  to  be  furnished. 


1 84  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

according  to  the  terms  of  the  wager,  whenever  Faust 
is  re^y  to  say  to  the  present  moment :  — 

"  O  moment,  stay,  thou  art  so  fair." 

As  a  fact,  the  Devil  leads  Faust  through  the  entire 
round  of  sense  pleasures  and  worldly  felicities,  without 
being  able  to  get  this  report  from  the  hero,  until  a 
situation  is  reached,  in  the  closing  scene  of  Faust's  life, 
which  does  not  here  concern  us. 

But  from  the  psychological  point  of  view,  it  is  indeed 
possible  that  pleasure  should  be  associated  with  a  rela- 
tively, although  never  absolutely,  perfect  feeling  of 
quiescence.  In  this  case  the  pleasure  is  of  the  kind  that 
satisfies.  The  conscious  attitude  is  then  one,  not  of 
seeking  for  more  pleasure,  but  of  desiring  nothing  more ^ 
and  nothing  other  than  what  we  have.  The  attainment 
of  this  state  is  indeed  never  complete,  but  constitutes 
an  ideal  limit  of  our  conscious  search  for  pleasure. 

§  69.  The  relation  of  pleasure  and  displeasure,  and 
of  restlessness  and  quiescence,  to  consciousness  in 
general,  is  somewhat  different.  The  painful  is  capable 
of  coming  very  prominently  and  very  intensely  to 
consciousness.  Seldom  does  pleasure  compare  in  its 
intensity  with  the  degree  of  consciousness  which  the 
unpleasant  often  attains.  On  the  other  hand,  there  is 
nothing  in  the  nature  of  pleasure  which  forbids  our 
being  decidedly  and  intensely  conscious  of  its  presence. 
Restlessness,    however,   is   distinctly   more   capable  of 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE    FEELINGS  1 85 

b6^coming  intense  in  consciousness  than  is  quiescence. 
ThVfeeling  of  quiescence,  or  the  tendency  in  our  feel- 
ings \Hiich  I  intend  to  characterise  by  the  word,  can 
indeed  bV  present  to  consciousness ;  but,  on  the  whole, 
quiescenceVever  becomes  entirely  complete  so  long  as 
consciousnessXpersists.  It  might  be  objected  to  my 
whole  account  that  quiescence  means  rather  the  ab- 
sence of  disquiet,  61:  of  restlessness,  than  the  presence 
of  any  positive  character  of  feeling.  But  while  I  admit 
that  restlessness  is  a  much  more  positive  experience 
than  is  any  extreme  form  of  quiescence,  there  still 
seems  to  me  ground  for  regarding  quiescence  as  a  posi- 
tive state  of  feeling.  But  that  restlessness  is  decidedly 
distinct  from  painfulness  or  from  unpleasantness  seems 
to  me  to  be  illustrated  by  the  foregoing  instances ; 
while  the  positive  character  of  the  experience  of  quies- 
cence seems  to  me  to  be  at  least  probable,  and  to  be 
distinct  from  the  character  which  we  associate  with  the 
name  Pleasurable.  \ 

§  70.  From  the  point  of  view  now  advanqed  there 
would  therefore  be  at  least  possible  four  distinct  kinds  of 
mixed  feelings,  due  to  the  union  of  the  two  pairs  o^  char- 
acters, or  of  the  two  dimensions  of  feelings  now  defined. 
These  four  kinds  would  be :  First,  the  pleasures  that 
are  qiiiesce7tt.  These  would  be  illustrated,  especially-^ 
by  instances  of  what  is  usually  called  contentment,  as 
opposed  to  discontent.  The  quiescent  pleasures  would 
again  be  the  most  distinctly  satisfactory  sorts  of  feeling 


1 86  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

that^we possess,  so  far  as  the  judgment  of  the  present 
moment  is  concerned.  On  the  other  hand,  the  tendency 
of  qui6^cence  to  be  associated  with  a  diminution  of  con- 
scious ii\tensity  is  responsible  for  the  fact  that  the 
pleasures  "which  tend  to  content  us  are  in  general  not 
very  prominent  or  intense  experiences,  and  are  there- 
fore regarded  with  a  certain  restless  contempt  by 
active-minded  people,  who  do  not  often  possess  such 
experiences,  and  who,  viewing  them  from  without,  find 
them  indeed  morally  unsatisfactory,  or  tame,  as  Goethe 
and  his  Faust  do  find  them. 

Second,  we  find  the  dissatisfying  pleasures.  These 
have  the  present  character  of  being  pleasant.  On  the 
other  hand  they  are  distinctly  unsatisfactory.  As  we 
have  already  pointed  out,  the  dual  theory  of  the  feelings 
finds  it  very  difficult  to  assign  to  them  a  definite  place. 
If  pleasure  is  the  state  of  feeling  that  we  desire,  and  if 
we  have  it,  why  are  we  not  satisfied  with  it  ?  But  such 
discontent  is  the  well-known,  and  in  fact  the  normal, 

experience  of  human  nature  with  regard  to  most  pleas- 

\ 
ures.     As  Faust  says  :  —  <  \ 

"  So  in  desire  I  hasten  to  enjoyment, 
And  in  enjoyment  pine  to  feel  desire." 

From  our  point  of  view  such  mixed  states  become 
natural  enough.  The  pleasti^'qbly  restless  feeling  in- 
volves, in  any  case,  dissatisfaction  with  the  pleasure 
so  far  as  that  is  merely  present.  ^  Our  desires  in  such 
cases,  when  defined  in  terms  of  ide^-s  (that  is,  when  our 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE   FEELINGS  1 87 

consciousness  is  not  merely  of  our  feelings  but  of  our 
thoughts  and  our  objects),  may  be  either  desires  for 
other  pleasures  of  a  different  kind,  or  desires  for  more 
of  the  same  kind  of  pleasure,  or  may  sometimes  involve 
a  discontent  which  prefers  even  painful  experiences 
to  the  present  pleasures,  simply  because  the  painful 
experiences  will  give  an  opportunity  for  the  exertion  of 
those  activities  which  our  restless  feelings  demand. 
Wagner's  Tannhauser,  at  the  point  where  he  is  about 
to  attempt  escape  from  the  Venusberg,  experiences  such 
an  union  of  restlessness  with  pleasure.  Browning's  hero, 
who  expresses  — -\ 

"  The  need  of  a  world  of  men  for  me," 

is  similarly  dissatisfied  with  the  enjoyments  whose  pres- 
ence he  still  experiences.  \ 

The  biological  importance  of  this  union  of  pleasure 
and  dissatisfaction  is  very  great.  The  normal  animal, 
engaged  in  successful  activity,  experiences  many  states 
of  consciousness  that  accompany  heightened  vitality 
and  that  are  accordingly  pleasurable.  But  since  its 
relations  to  its  environment  need  constantly  fresh  read- 
justment, such  an  animal  must  feel  notXmerely  the  pleas- 
ure, but  the  incompleteness  of  its  present  state,  in  order 
that  it  may  constantly  desire  such  readjusWent. 

Third,  we  find  in  many  feelings  the  2inio\  of  the  pain- 
ful and  the  restless.  Our  experience  is  panful  in  so 
far  as  it  accompanies  a  certain  present  diminution  of 


1 88  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

the  energy  at  the  disposal  of  the  organism,  or  in  so  far 
as  the  present  situation  is  more  or  less  injurious  to  the 
organism.       Such    pain   is,    in    so    far,    very   naturally 
accompanied  with    dissatisfaction.     But   since   dissatis- 
faction can  accompany  pleasure  without  thereby  neces- 
sarily involving  the  distinctly  painful  feeling,  we  must 
indeed  distmgiiish    between  the  restlessness  that  accom- 
panies siijfering  and  the  suffering  itself.     If  the  organic 
injury  to  which  the  suffering  is  due  is  present,  but  is 
not  very  severe,  the  restlessness  may  predominate  over 
the    suffering.      /;/   all  sitch  cases,    according    to   our 
account,   the  feeling  present   has   two   distinct  aspects, 
namely,  our  sense  of  the  present  pain,  and  our  feeling 
of  the  restless  tendency  to  change  our  situation.     The 
dual  theory  of  the  feelings  regards  this  connection  be- 
tween pain  and  restlessness  as  an  inevitable  one;  and 
distinguishes  the  one  from  the  other  only  by  calling 
the  pain  a  quality  of  the  present  state,  and  the  restless- 
ness, perhaps,  a  sensory  experience  of  the  movements 
that  we  make  in  order  to  escape  from  the  pain.     Our 
own  theory  regards  the  restlessness  and  the  pain  as 
distinguishable    aspects,  both  of  which  belong   to   the 
world  of  the  feelings,  and  neither  oi  which  is  wholly 
dependent  upon  the  other.  \ 

Fourth,  we  may  have,  in  certain  feelings,  the  union 
of  suffering  and  quiescence.  As  already  admitted,  this 
quiescence  is  never  an  absolute  indisposition  to  make 
any  change  whatever.     On  the  other  hand,  the  quies- 


SENSITIVENESS— THE   FEELINGS  189 

cent  aspect  of  consciousness  seems  to  me  to  have  a 
positive-  character,  which  is  distinctly  illustrated  by  all 
those  experiences  to  which  Wundt  gives  the  names 
Feelings  of  Depression  and  Feelings  of  Relief.  That 
feehngs  of  the  relatively  quiescent  sort  can  be  associ- 
ated even  with  great  suffering  seems  to  be  illustrated 
by  the  emotion  of  despair,  and  by  our  passive  accept- 
ance of  the  hopeless  sorrow,  or  of  the  overwhelming 
physical  pain.  Very  great  and  long-continued  pain 
inevitably  tends  to  bring  about  a  state  in  which  feel- 
ings of  quiescence  are  prominent. 

§  71.  If  the  foregoing  are  the  four  kinds  of  possible 
mixtures  of  the  two  types  of  feelings,  it  may  be  indeed 
also  pointed  out  that  we  have  feelings  in  which  otie  of 
tJie  two  types  of  variation  here  in  question  may  so  pre- 
domiiiate  that  the  other  of  the  dimensions  of  feeling  almost 
wholly  vanishes.  Such  feelings,  in  so  far  as  pleasures 
and  pains  are  concerned,  have  been  especially  noted 
in  experimental  work  in  the  laboratory.  Disagreeable 
tastes,  experimentally  and  unexpectedly  produced  by 
stimuli  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  passive  subject,  may 
be  for  a  moment  almost  purely  disagreeable ;  pleasant 
tastes  may  be  almost  purely  agreeable ;  and  in  both 
cases  there  may  be  comparatively  little  prominence 
given  to  the  other  dimension  of  feeling.  Yet,  on  the 
whole,  such  experiences  of  the  unpleasant,  if  not  very 
intense,  will  be  in  general  associated  rather  with  feel- 
ings of  quiescence  than  with  those  of  restlessness,  just 


1 90  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

inV^o  far  as  the  subject  remains  passive.  On  the  other 
han^,  feelings  of  restlessness  and  of  quiescence  can  be 
obtairied  in  various  degrees  with  little  mixture  of  pleas- 
antness\and  unpleasantness.  TJiis  especially  occurs  in 
case  of  th^  phejiojjzena  of  zvhat  are  called  active  and  pas- 
sive attention  to  indifferent  objects.  By  the  phrase  "  in- 
different objects,"  the  customary  dual  theory  of  the 
feelings  distinguishes  those  objects  that  seem  to  us  at 
any  moment  neither  pleasurable  nor  painful.  Such,  it  is 
usually  said,  are  the  vast  number  of  objects  of  our 
colder  "  intellectual "  concern.  Such,  in  general,  are 
all  very  familiar  objects,  of  whose  presence  we  may 
take  note,  while  their  character  as  pleasant  or  un- 
pleasant is  almost  if  not  altogether  absent.  But  we 
may,  and  constantly  do,  attend  to  such  objects.  If  we 
attend  to  them  in  what  is  called  the  passive  way,  they 
become  clear  and  prominent  in  our  consciousness  with- 
out any  effort  of  our  own.  If  we  attend  to  them  with 
some  effort,  they  become  prominent,  but  not  without 
thereby  obtaining  some  sort  of  present  and  relatively 
active  interest  to  us.  From  our  point  of  view,  attention 
to  such  "  indifferent  objects^'  whether  it  be  active  or 
passive  attentio7i^  involves  processes  into  which  feeling 
enters.  The  feeling  is  one  of  quiescence  in  passive  atten- 
tion^ of  restlessness  in  active  attention.  The  moods  of 
intellectual  interest,  the  feelings  which  accompany  our 
questions  and  determine  our  curiosity,  are  feelings  in 
which  restlessness   is  prominent,  and  in  which  we  are 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE    FEELINGS  191 

\ 

therefore  dissatisfied  with  the  imperfect  knowledge  that 
we  gfit  so  long  as  our  insight  is  incomplete.  But  feel- 
ings of  pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  may  be,  in 
such  cases,  almost  wholly  absent  however  active  our 
attention  is. 

It  is  notable  that,  as  the  ordinary  theory  admits, 
our  active  atiention  7nay  also  be  awakened,  eitJier  by 
pleasant  or  by  iuipleasant  objects.  The  fact  that  botJi 
pleasantness  and  unpleasantness  may  thus  agree  in  con- 
stituting stimuli  for  our  active  attention,  while  neverthe- 
less the  difference  between  attention  and  inattention 
seems  to  be  one  that  is  largely  determined  by  feel- 
ing—  this  fact  involves  a  pToblem  which  the  ordinary 
dual  theory  of  the  feelings  ieaves  unexplained.  If 
both  pleasure  and  displeasure  tend  to  make  us  actively 
attend,  what  kind  of  feeling  is  it  that  makes  us  in- 
attentive }  From  our  point  of  vievv^  the  explanation 
lies  in  the  fact  that  active  attention  h^volves  feelings 
of  restlessness,  while  feelings  of  quies\:ence  tend  to 
the  cessation  of  active  attention.  Thus,  both  pleasur- 
able and  painful  objects  may  awaken  our  attive  atten- 
tion, because  both  may  arouse  feelings  of  restlessness. 
In  case  active  attention  succeeds  in  bringing  \the  state 
of  knowledge  which  we  desire,  the  result  is  i  feeling 
of  quiescence  which  once  more  leads  to  tho^  cessa- 
tion of  active  attention,  and  consequently  to,  that 
which,  apart  from  passive  attention,  would  constitute 
the  state  of  inattention. 


192  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

§  72.  We  have  now  considered  those  aspects  of  our 
consciousness  which  are  especially  concerned  in  the 
sensitiveness  to  its  present  surroundings  that  the  mind 
manifests  at  any  moment.  In  considering  the  stream 
of  consciousness,  we  already  saw  one  of  the  principal 
characteristics  of  what  is  called  our  present  Attention 
to  a  portion  of  the  states  of  consciousness  that  at 
any  moment  float  before  us.  In  the  narrow  field  of 
the  present  passing  moment,  some  states  are  empha- 
sised, or  are  clear,  while  the  rest  of  the  passing  states 
constitute  what  is  often  called  the  background  of  con- 
sciousness. The  states  present,  whether  they  are  in 
the  background  or  not,  are  of  three  principal  kinds, 
Sensory  Experiences,  Images,  Feelings.  These  states 
are  not  a  mere  collection  of  separate  facts.  Still  less 
are  they,  when  they  ordinarily  occur,  composed  of 
the  elements  that  analysis  can  discover  in  those 
analysed  mental  states  which,  as  a  result  of  special 
training  and  of  experiment,  can  be  substituted  for 
the  states  of  our  naive  consciousness.  On  the  con- 
trary, consciousness  as  it  passes  always  involves  Unity, 
and  within  this  unity  finds  a  certain  Variety  then 
and  there  distinguished.  The  unityXand  the  variety 
are  inseparable  aspects  of  the  conscious  life  of  any 
moment.  Neither  can  be  resolved  intd  the  other. 
And  at  each  moment  there  exist  only  such^  unity  and 
such  variety  as  is  then  and  there  observeol  When 
we  consider  the  conditions  upon  which  the  conscious- 


SENSITIVENESS  — THE   FEELINGS  193 

ness^of  the  instant  depends,  we  are  able  to  refer  one 
aspecKpf  all  our  conscious  life  to  the  present  activi- 
ties of  o^r  sense  organs.  And  this  aspect  we  have 
called  ourXoresent  sensory  experience.  A  similar 
study  of  the  ^conditions  of  consciousness  enables  us 
to  distinguish  our^j^^-ges  from  our  more  direct  sen- 
sory experiences.  I^nally,  our  feelings  are  distin- 
guished from  our  other "  ^experiences  by  the  direct 
consciousness  of  the  moment ;  but  their  classification 
is  rendered  difficult,  because  of  their  evanescent  charac- 
ter, and  of  the  variety  of  the  ways  in  whkh  they  appear 
at  different  present  moments  of  consciousness.  The 
classification  that  we  have  offered  is  merely  an .  effort 
to  be  just  to  the  complexity  of  the  facts.  It  follows  .  JU 
in  some  respects  Wundt's  account,  but  simplifies  the  jj-x^m-^ 
latter. 

Yet  now  the  question  may  still  arise  as  to  whether 
the  account  thus  far  given  of  our  passing  consciousness 
is  exhaustive.  For  is  there  not,  one  may  ask,  still  an- 
other kind  of  consciousness  present,  namely,  that  which 
constitutes  what  is  usually  called  the  Will,  as  it  is 
manifested  at  any  moment  ?  Is  not  this  other  kind  of 
consciousness  that  which  is  sometimes  also  called 
Conation  ? 

§  73.    To  this  question  we  answer  by  a  few  further 

words  concerning  the   place   which  the   Will   ought  to 

occupy  in    a   psychological    study.     All    consciousness 

without    exception    accompanies   the    reaction    of    the 

o 


194  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

organism  to  its  environment.  There  is  no  sensitiveness 
without  at  least  a  tendency  to  the  outward  expression  of 
this  sensitiveness.  While  the  manifold  inhibitions  of 
which  we  have  earlier  spoken  may  suppress  the  out- 
ward appearance  of  the  movements  which  we  tend  to 
make,  inhibition  itself  is,  on  the  physical  side,  an  essen- 
tially motor  process ;  and  there  is  therefore  no  excep- 
tion to  the  rule  that  all  consciousness  accompanies 
responses  of  the  oj'ganism  to  stimulation.  As  these 
responses,  in  so  far  as  we  are  aware  of  them,  not  only 
are  from  the  objective  point  of  view  adjustments  to  our 
situation,  but  in  general  are  viewed  by  ourselves  as  ex- 
pressions of  our  desire,  there  is  a  general  sense  in  which 
we  can  speak  of  all  consciousness  as  an  inner  interpreta- 
tio7i  of  our  ozvn  attitude  toward  our  world.  Of  whatever 
I  may  be  conscious,  I  am  always  aware  of  how  some- 
thing is  consciously  estimated  with  reference  to  my 
needs  and  desires.  There  is,  therefore,  a  good  general 
ground  for  declaring  that  the  whole  of  our  consciousness 
involves  will,  that  is,  a  collection  of  attitudes  which  we 
feel  to  be  more  or  less  responsive  to  our  world. 

But,  as  a  fact,  this  our  conscious  response  to  our 
world  takes  the  form  of  being  aware  of  objects,  of  being 
aware  of  what  we  are  doing  about  the  objects,  and  of  feel- 
ing pleasure  and  pain,  restlessness  and  quiescence,  in  the 
presence  of  these  objects  and  of  our  own  acts.  The  ques- 
tions as  to  why  we  act  as  we  do,  and  why  we  feel  as  we 
do,  involve  inquiries  that  can  only  be  answered  in  the 


SENSITIVENESS— THE  FEELINGS  1 95 

light  of  considerations  which  will  concern  us  later  under 
the  head  of  Docility  or  of  Mental  Initiative.  But  in 
our  consciousness  of  our  present  action,  and  of  our  pres- 
ent attitude  toward  the  world,  in  other  words,  in  the  con- 
sciousness of  our  present  will^  there  are  involved  no  other 
present  features  than  those  already  described,  namely, 
tJie  sensory  experiences^  the  images^  ajid  the  feelings^  as 
they  are  present  at  any  time  in  the  unity  of  consciousness. 
The  words  "desire,"  "longing,"  "choice,"  and  the  rest 
of  the  terms  which  are  very  properly  used  for  the  ele- 
mentary attitudes  of  the  will,  are  names  for  conscious 
processes  in  which  the  aspects  of  sensory  experience, 
of  images,  and  of  feelings  can  be  readily  distinguished. 
But  besides  these  aspects,  no  essentially  new  ones  are 
to  be  found,  except  in  so  far  as  we  take  account  of  the 
conditions  upon  which  desire,  choices,  and  the  rest,  de- 
pend. Of  these  conditions  we  shall  later  speak.  But 
so  far  as  present  consciousness  is  concerned,  to  desire  a7t 
object  is  to  feel  pain  at  its  absence^  or  else  is  to  be  restless 
in  the  presence  of  our  mere  images  of  the  object.  To 
strive  after  an  object  is  to  combine  such  a  feeling  of 
restlessness  with  the  sense  of  strain  due  to  our  organic 
sensory  experience  of  the  actions  whereby  we  pursue 
the  object.  To  make  a  choice,  is  to  assume  an  attitude 
toward  certain  objects  which  involves  special  instances 
of  attention,  accompanied  with  certain  shades  of  feeling 
wherein  various  restless  feelings  gradually  or  suddenly 
give  place  to  certain  characteristic  feelings  of  quiescence. 


196  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

In  brief,  while  we  are  far  from  denying  the  presence 
of  will  in  consciousness,  our  own  view  is  that,  in  one 
aspect,  tJie  whole  consciousness  of  any  moment  is  an  ex- 
pression of  the  will  of  that  moment,  in  so  far  as  that  will 
is  concerned  with  these  sensory  experiences,  and  with 
these  objects,  in  view  of  the  present  values  which  our 
feelings  give  to  the  objects  in  question.  The  term  "  wilV 
itself  is  one  which  is  derived  rather  from  a  consideration 
of  the  significance  of  our  conscious  life,  when  ethically 
estimated,  or  when  viewed  with  reference  to  the  out- 
ward acts  which  express  it,  or  with  regard  to  the  in- 
ward results  which  flow  from  it,  than  a  term  of 
psychological  description.  The  understanding  of  the 
phenomena  of  the  will  from  a  psychological  point  of 
view  cannot  result  from  a  study  of  present  conscious- 
ness alone,  but  must  involve  the  considerations  which 
concern  us  in  later  sections.  We  conclude,  then,  that 
the  term  "conation"  stands  for  no  aspect  of  present 
consciousness  which  has  not  been  already,  in  general, 
characterised. 

Herewith  our  study  of  mental  sensitiveness  is  com- 
pleted. We  turn  from  the  examination  of  our  present 
consciousness  to  a  consideration  of  the  relation  of  this 
consciousness  to  our  former  experiences,  and  to  the 
acquired  habits  of  our  organism. 


c'- 


kV 


CHAPTER    VIII 

The  General  Laws  of  Docility 

§  74.  Our  whole  method  of  treatment  in  this  sketch 
forbids  us  to  separate  the  study  of  the  intellectual  life 
from  the  study  of  the  life  that  gets  expressed  in  our 
conduct.  Accordingly,  in  our  account  of  mental  docil- 
ity, we  are  eqically  conceimed  with  the  question  as  to  hozv 
we  acquire  knowledge^  and  with  the  question  as  to  how 
our  habits  of  action  become  moulded  by  our  environment^ 
in  such  wise  that  these  habits  get  represented  in  our 
consciousness.  Externally  viewed,  the  organism  shows 
docility  by  its  power  to  exhibit,  in  the  activities  of  any 
moment,  the  results  of  former  experiences,  that  is,  of 
what  has  happened  to  the  organism  in  the  past.  From 
the  point  of  view  of  consciousness,  our  docility  shows 
itself  in  the  fact  that  our  consciousness  at  any  moment 
not  only  involves  a  response  to  the  present  situation, 
but  shows  signs  of  the  way  in  which  present  experience 
is  related  to  former  experience.  Since  the  conscious- 
ness of  any  moment  is  concerned  both  with  the  objects 
which  we  know,  and  with  the  acts  which  we  perform  or 
tend  to  perform  in  the  presence  of  these  objects,  as  well 

as  with  the  feeling  that  the  objects  arouse  in  us,  our 

197 


198  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

docility  is  equally  shown:  (i)  by  the  fact  that  our 
present  knowledge  of  things  shows  traces  of  the  influ- 
ence of  former  experience;  (2)  by  the  fact  that  our 
present  consciousness  of  our  acts  shows  signs  of  being 
influenced  by  a  consciousness  that  we  have  possessed 
of  former  acts,  at  the  time  when  they  occurred,  and 
(3)  by  the  fact  that  our  present  feelings  show  signs 
of  being  influenced  in  their  character  by  our  former 
feehngs.  Since  all  these  evidences  of  docility  con- 
stantly coexist  in  consciousness,  there  is  no  reason, 
except  convenience,  for  treating  them  at  all  separately. 
The  general  laws  that  govern  docility  in  the  one  case 
apply  to  all  three  cases.  Our  course  of  treatment  of 
the  phenomena  of  docility  will  therefore  begin  by 
pointing  out  the  most  general  laws  which  govern  the 
process,  and  by  then  illustrating  the  applications  of 
this  law  to  various  special  cases. 

§  75.  In  speaking  of  the  functions  of  the  brain,  we 
already  laid  stress  upon  the  principle  that  determines 
all  our  docihty,  in  so  far  as  that  docility  depends  upon 
physical  conditions.  Any  function  of  the  brain  tends ^ 
within  limits y  to  be  perfonned  with  the  moi'e  Jacility 
the  more  frequently  it  has  been  peiformed  before.  This 
is  the  law  of  Habit.  Its  interpretation  in  terms  of 
consciousness  is,  that  any  conscious  process  which  is  of 
a  type  that  has  occurred  before^  tends  to  recur  more 
readily,  up  to  the  point  where  the  limit  of  training  has 
been  reached,  and  to  displace  rival  conscious  processes. 


THE   GENERAL   LAWS   OF   DOCILITY  1 99 

according  as  its  type  has  frequently  occurred.  We 
speak  a  foreign  language  the  more  readily  the  oftener 
we  have  already  spoken  it.  We  repeat  a  poem  more 
easily  the  oftener  we  have  already  repeated  it.  A 
frequently  recurring  emotion  is  of  a  type  such  that  we 
readily  fall  into  that  emotional  condition.  The  only 
qualification  needed  in  making  this  assertion  depends 
upon  the  fact  that  our  training  may  reach  a  limit, 
beyond  which  we  do  not  increase  in  facility. 

The  chief  consideration  that  needs  carefully  to  be 
borne  in  mind,  in  even  the  most  general  application  of 
the  cerebral  law  of  habit  to  the  phenomena  of  con- 
sciousness, is  expressed  by  calling  attention  to  the  fact 
that  we  can  only  speak  of  the  recurrence  of  a  certain 
type  or  sort  of  consciousness,  never  of  the  recurrence 
or  repetition  of  a  given  conscious  state  itself.  There 
are  reasons  why,  without  danger  of  serious  error,  we 
can  speak  of  the  same  cerebral  function  as  recurring. 
But  it  is  not  proper  to  speak  of  the  same  state  of  con- 
sciousness, or  of  the  same  experience,  as  being  re- 
peated. For  into  the  stream  of  consciousness  no  one 
can  twice  step  and  find  it  the  same.  No  state  of  con- 
sciousness ever  recurs.  We  can  only  speak  of  the 
repetition  at  different  times  of  the  same  type  or  kind  of 
conscious  condition.  The  sorrows,  the  ideas,  the  sights, 
all  the  experiences  of  last  year,  of  yesterday,  or  of  ten 
minutes  ago,  have  vanished,  and  will  never  recur  in  the 
world  known  to  the   psychologist.     But  the  sorrow  or 


200  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

sight  or  thought  of  this  moment  may  resemble^  in  type, 
experiences  of  former  consciousness.  And  in  so  far  as 
the  same  brain  function  recurs,  the  similar  state  of  con- 
sciousness will  occur  also,  and  will  repeat  the  type  of 
its  predecessor,  which  on  the  former  occasion  accom- 
panied that  function.  It  is  with  this  restriction  that 
the  law  of  habit  may  be  translated  from  cerebral  terms 
into  the  terms  that  apply  to  consciousness. 

§  ^6.  The  first  result  of  the  law  of  habit  is  that 
any  complex  cerebral  function,  which  in  the  course 
of  our  experience  gets  established,  is  likely  to  have  a 
history  which  includes  events  of  the  following  sort. 
The  function  first  comes  to  be  established,  in  general, 
through  the  results  of  external  disturbance,  trans- 
mitted through  sense  organs  to  the  brain.  Let  the  dis- 
turbance involve  the  sensory  elements  A,  B,  C,  D. 
Let  the  cerebral  function  which  these  disturbances  at 
first  determine  involve  certain  corresponding  processes 
a,  by  c,  d.  What  these  corresponding  reactions  of  the 
brain  are,  will  depend  upon  the  inherited  structure  of 
the  brain,  and  upon  the  habits  that  it  has  acquired 
up  to  the  time  of  the  occurrence  of  the  disturbances 
in  question.  In  general,  if  the  disturbances  are  novel, 
the  brain  will  exhibit  a  certain  inertia,  or  a  certain 
slowness  of  definite  response  to  the  new  stimuli. 
This  inertia  will  be,  a  symptom  of  the  fact  that  the 
stimulation  is  new.  Let  the  disturbances,  however, 
often  recur,  and  let  the  functions  a,  b,  c,  d,  be    often 


THE   GENERAL   LAWS   OF   DOCILITY  201 

repeated.  Then,  in  general,  these  functions  will  become 
quicker,  and  more  definite,  and  will  recur  more  read- 
ily. In  a  large  number  of  cases  the  functions  will 
appear  to  be  not  only  quickened,  but  simplified,  as 
the  process  often  recurs.  At  the  first,  the  response 
of  the  brain  to  the  new  disturbances  may  be  decidedly 
diffuse,  and  may  contain  elements  that  are  not  useful 
to  the  organism.  As  a  result  of  frequent  stimulation, 
the  useless  elements  may  tend  to  be  removed  from 
the  response,  which  may  therefore  become  less  diffuse 
and  more  simple,  as  well  as  more  definite.  Witness 
the  way  in  which,  when  we  acquire  a  new  habit  of  a 
skilful  sort,  we  gradually  eliminate,  even  quite  apart 
from  any  conscious  selection,  many  useless  movements 
of  the  type  of  "  overflow,"  many  awkwardnesses  and 
redundancies  which  accompany  our  first  efforts.  The 
question  why  these  redundancies  disappear  is  a  com- 
plex one,  which  involves  physiological  problems  re- 
lating to  the  whole  process  of  adaptation.  But  we 
all  know  that  early  movements  of  any  sort  are  likely 
to  be  hesitant  and  redundant ;  and  that  the  sign  of 
acquired  habit  is  the  presence  at  once  of  swiftness 
and  of  useful  simplification. 

But  still  a  further  modification  of  the  brain  function 
results  from  the  law  of  habit.  The  elementary  pro- 
cesses which  constitute  the  cerebral  response  may  be- 
come so  united  together  that,  when  the  habit  becomes 
well  established,  only  a  poi-tion  of  the  origi7ial  stimuli  \ 


202  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

may  suffice  to  produce  the  ivhole  of  the  habitual  response) 
Thus,  in  time,  A  may  suffice  as  a  stimulus  to  release 
the  entire  system  of  now  closely  knit  elementary  pro- 
cesses of  which  the  response  a,  b,  c,  d,  is  made  up.  In- 
creasing  swiftness^  tiseful  simplificatioiiy  definiteness^ 
and  a  close  welding  together  of  elemejitary  processes 
in  such  wise  that  the  stimulus  which  arouses  one 
suffices  to  arouse  all  —  these  are  the  familiar  phe- 
nomena of  cerebral  habits  as  these  become  settled. 
Such  phenomena  may  be  illustrated  without  limit  in 
case  of  what  happens  with  all  our  trained  movements, 
with  all  our  skilful  arts. 

It  will  be  noticed  that  the  welding  together  of 
various  elementary  functions,  which  is  so  important 
^  a  factor  in  the  acquisition  of  complex  habits,  may 
appear  either  in  the  simultaneous  or  in  the  successive 
functions  of  the  brain.  Thus  if,  when  we  acquire  any 
skill,  the  various  fingers  of  one  hand,  or  of  both  hands, 
have  been  led,  through  the  appropriate  stimulations, 
to  cooperate  in  the  same  movement,  as  in  sewing,  or* 
in  knitting,  or  in  playing  a  musical  instrument,  the"^ 
brain  functions  which  direct  them  in  this  activity  may 
become  so  welded  together  that  a  single  stimulation^ 
or  at  all  events  a  very  simple  one,  m-ay  suffice  to  release  ^  3 
at  once  all  the  simultaneous  motor  disturbances  which 
are  needed  to  carry  out  the  function  in  question.  Thus, 
when  one  learns  music,  the  various  fingers  have  at  first 
to  be  guided   by  different   stimulations   into   the   acts 


THE  GENERAL   LAWS  OF  DOCILITY  203 

that  are  necessary  for  the  playing  of  chords ;  but,  for 
the  trained  musician,  a  glance  at  the  printed  music 
may  suffice  to  put  at  once  all  the  fingers  needed  into 
the  simultaneous  positions  which  secure  his  striking  the 
chord.  The  same  holds  true  in  successive  functions ; 
that  is,  one  whom  any  stimulus  starts  in  the  motor 
processes  that  lead  to  a  given  series  of  acts  may  find 
these  acts  so  welded  together  by  habit  that  the 
accomplishment  of  each  act  in  the  habitual  process 
furnishes  of  itself  the  sufficient  sensory  stim,ulus  for 
the  accomplishjuent  of  the  next  stage  in  the  same  pro- 
cess, so  that  no  new  guidance  is  needed  for  carrying 
out  the  whole  series  of  acts,  beyond  the  first  stimulation, 
and  the  resulting  series  of  motor,  sensory,  and  central 
processes. 

§  Jj.    Interpreted   with    reference   to    consciousness,  [ 

the  law  of^  habit '  appears  as  the  Law  of  Associati^. -^ 

The  conscious  states  that  accompany  any  process 
which  becomes  habitual  are  such  that,  within  certain 
limits,  they  are  similar  in  any  particular  instance  to  the 
states  that  accompany  any  other  repetition  of  the 
same  process.  In  so  far  as  they  are  similar,  they 
directly  illustrate  the  law  of  habit.  If  to  the  cerebral 
functions  a,  b,  c,  d,  at  the  time  when  they  were  first 
performed,  there  corresponded  the  conscious  states  i,  2, 
3,  4,  then  when  the  function  recurs,  a  sequence  of  con- 
scious states  i',  2',  3',  4',  may  be  observable,  similar 
to  the   former   ones.     Or  if   the   functions  a,  b,  c,  d, 


204  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

involve  elements  that  are  simultaneous,  and  if  in   the 
same  way  the  conscious  facts  i,  2,  3,  4,  are  a  simul- 
taneous variety  within  the  same  unity  of  consciousness, 
upon  the  recurrence  of  the  function,  a  similar  simul- 
taneous  variety   of   conscious    states   will   tend    to   be 
observable.     In  consequence,  there  will  appear  in  the 
conscious  states  the  law  that  conscious  processes  which 
have  been  either  simtdtaneously  or  successively  associated 
will  have  such  a  relatioiiship  established  that  frequently ^ 
when  states  similar  to  one  or  to  more  of  these  associated 
states   occur,   states  similar  to    the   others  will  tend  to 
associate  themselves  with  these  new  states,  so  that,  for 
instance,   when   the    states    i'    and    2',   similar   to   the 
former    states    i    and    2    are    found    in    consciousness, 
states  3'  and  4',  similar  to  the  states  3  and  4  will  tend 
to   take   place.      Just   as  there  will   be  a   law  of   the 
tendency  of  various  functions  of  the  brain  to  become 
welded  together  either  simultaneously  or  successfully, 
precisely  so  the  laws  of  mental  association  will  involve 
both    simultaneous    and   successive    associations.       The 
existence  of  such  instances  of  mental  association,  and 
their   relations    to   the  laws  of  cerebral  habit,   appear 
very  readily  in  any  case  where  we  learn  by  heart  a 
series   of  words,  and    so   illustrate,   as  we   repeat   our 
lesson,   the   principle    of   successive   association.      Such 
connections  also  appear,  on  the  other  hand,  when  for 
instance  we    put  a  key  into  a  lock.     Here,  however, 
we  have  simiiltaneously  associated  ideas,  corresponding 


THE  GENERAL   LAWS  OF  DOCILITY  205      <^^V^ 

both  to  the  keyhole  and  to  the  shape  and  position  of  iXA'^^'^ 
the  key.      But  it  is  indeed  the  case  that  the  facts  of>tyw' 
mental  association  tend,  in  one  respect,  to  lose   their  |\ 
parallelism  to  the  facts  of  cerebral  habit  when  we  take  ' 
account  of  the  easily  verifiable  principle  that,  w/ie7i  our 
acts  become  very  rapid,  or  our  simultajieoiis  motor  func- 
tions become  very  complex  or  very  closely  welded^  our  con- 
scijiiLs^^iaUs  no  longer  possess  a  wealth  at  all  correspondent 
to  the  complexity  of  the  Junctions .  •    To  the  rapidly  pervT" 
formed  act,  only  a  single  conscious  state  may  correspond. 
To  the  complex   collection  of   simultaneous   functions 
there  may  correspond  only  a  single  idea.      Thus,   ac- 
quiring a  skilful  habit,  such  as  is  involved  in  writing 
our  own  names,  we  may  almost  entirely  lose  conscious- 
ness of  how  we  form  the  single  letters.     The  musician, 
in   striking  the  chord,  may  be  aware  only  of  how  he 
intends  the  chord  to  sound,  and  may  no   longer  have 
any    mental    process   corresponding    to    the    conscious 
states  which  were  in  his  mind  when  first  he  learned 
simultaneously  to  adjust  his  fingers  to  the  act. 

§  y'i.  In  consequence  of  this  failure  of  our  conscious 
processes  to  correspond  in  their  wealth  to  our  habits, 
many  further  psychological  complications  result.  For 
instance,  we  may  learn  a  song.  The  function  involves 
cerebral  processes  having  to  do  both  with  the  words  and 
with  the  tune.  These  processes  are  perhaps  developed 
somewhat  in  isolation,  but,  in  any  case,  become  welded 
together  when  we  acquire  the  power  to  sing  the  song. 


206  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

Because  of  the  welding  together  of  the  functions,  and 
because  the  tune  and  the  words  are  represented  also  in 
our  consciousness,  we  come  to  have  a  mental  association 
of  the  words  with  the  tune.  In  so  far,  the  mental  asso- 
ciation very  correctly  represents  the  cerebral  facts, 
although  it  is  never  adequate  to  their  wealth.  It  may 
now  happen  that,  in  some  entirely  different  context,  we 
hear  a  tune  which,  while  not  identical  with  the  former 
tune,  resembles  the  latter  in  some  of  its  strains,  or  in 
the  chords  of  its  harmony,  or  sometimes  merely  in  ex- 
tremely subtle  features,  such  for  instance  as  the  char- 
acter of  its  rhythm,  or  the  way  in  which  it  is  sung. 
In  such  a  case  music,  which  is  remotely  similar  to  the 
original  tune,  may  arouse  in  our  minds  a  memory  of  the 
former  tune  and  of  the  associated  words.  Such  "  asso- 
ciations by  similarity "  may  occur  in  cases  where  the 
connection  seems  still  more  remote.  Thus  an  expres- 
sion on  a  stranger's  face  may  remind  us  of  something 
that  was  said  at  home  yesterday.  Upon  examination 
we  may  discover  that  this  expression  resembled  one 
which  frequently  appears  on  the  face  of  some  in- 
mate of  our  home,  and  that  it  was  this  inmate  who 
uttered  the  words  in  question.  In  all  such  instances 
the  associative  process,  as  it  is  represented  in  con- 
sciousness, seems  to  bring  together  facts  that  have 
never  before  been  represe^ited  by  similar  conscious  facts 
that  occurred  together.  And  hence,  in  such  cases, 
the    conscious    association    may    at    first    seem    to    be 


THE  GENERAL   LAWS   OF  DOCILITY  207 

following    other    lines    than    those  which   the    laws   of 
habit  suggest. 

But  if  we  pass  to  the  condiiiojts  of  the  conscious  state, 
in  so  far  as  these  conditions  are  cerebral  functions,  we 
are  able  to  reduce  the  explanation  to  the  law  of  habit. 
The  new  experience  that  arouses  what  is  called  an 
"  association  by  similarity,"  awakens  functions  that  are 
not  only  habitual,  but  that  involve  elementary  functions 
which  had  also  taken  part  in  other  habits.  Because,  in 
these  other  habits,  these  elements  had  become  welded 
with  yet  other  simultaneous  or  successive  functions, 
they  have  tended  to  arouse  those  other  habitual  func- 
tions into  which  they  had  entered.  But  these  other 
functions,  when  once  aroused,  are  accompanied  by  co?i- 
scioiis  processes  wJiose  similarity  to  the  conscious  processes 
that  reminded  lis  of  them  we  can  only  detect  after  the  as- 
sociation has  taken  place.  Thus  the  music  now  heard 
involves  a  harmony  or  a  cadence  whose  cerebral  accom- 
paniment has  occurred  before  in  my  life.  And  this 
elementary  cerebral  function,  when  it  has  occurred 
before,  has  been  a  part  of  the  very  process  that  I  went 
through  when  I  learned  a  certain  familiar  tune  with 
which  certain  words  were  associated.  The  elementary 
function  once  having  awakened  the  rest  of  the  habit  of 
which  it  was  formerly  a  part,  I  proceed  to  recall  words 
which  are  associated  with  a  music  only  remotely  similar 
to  the  music  now  heard.  A  similar  explanation  holds 
in  the  other  case  cited.     Hence  my  habits  may  so  work 


208  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

as  to  bring  together  conscious  facts  such  as  were  never 
together  before. 

§  79.  The  partisans  of  the  theory  of  mental  ele- 
ments, and  in  particular  the  school  of  Wundt,  are 
nowadays  accustomed  to  summarise  all  such  processes 
as  are  here  in  question  by  saying  that  associations 
are  formed  not  principally  amongst  onr  various  total 
states  of  consciousness,  but  amongst  the  elements  of  whicJi 
these  states  consist,  so  that  the  elemejits  which  enter  into 
one  meiital  state  may  recall  through  simtiltaneotis  or 
through  successive  association  elements  which  make  tip 
other  mental  states.  In  this  way  total  states  of  con- 
sciousness, such  as  have  never  been  habitually  together 
in  consciousness,  may,  upon  occasion,  appear  to  become 
associated  through  the  association  existing  amongst 
their  elements. 

If  we  substitute  for  the  fictitious  mental  "  elements  " 
the  elementary  cerebral  functions  which  take  place  as 
the  accompaniment  and  condition  of  our  mental  pro- 
cesses, the  application  of  the  law  of  cerebral  habit  seems 
to  be  always  possible ;  and  then  our  account  is  freed 
from  the  entanglements  of  the  theory  of  mental  ele- 
ments. From  this  point  of  view  every  elemc7itary  cere- 
bral function,  a,  may  become  habitually  7inited  with 
varioics  other  cerebral  functions  in  various  complex 
habits.  Whenever  a  state  of  consciousness,  i,  occurs, 
which  accompanies  this  elementary  function,  a,  then,  if 
the    conditions   favour   the   awakening  of   some  other 


THE  GENERAL  LAWS  OF  DOCILITY  209 

cerebral  habit  into  which  the  elementary  cerebral  func- 
tion enters,  the  other  habit,  if  once  awakened,  will  be 
accompanied  with  a7iotJier  mental  process  which  will 
hereupon  appear  to  be  associated  with  the  conscious 
process  that  we  have  called  i.  /;/  consequence,  the 
associative  connections  amongst  our  various  conscious 
states  zvi II  generally  be  miicJi  more  subtle  than  the  gross 
application  of  the  law  of  habit  will  at  once  suggest. 

On  the  other  hand,  when  we  learn  to  substitute  for 
our  nai've  states  of  consciousness  those  analysed  states 
which  we  have  before  described,  and  which  the  theory 
of  mental  elements  regards  as  such  important  guides, 
we  tend  more  and  more  to  detect,  in  these  analysed 
states  of  consciousness,  relatively  simple  states  which 
now  correspond  to  the  elementary  cerebral  functions, 
and  which  enable  our  account  of  the  associations  to 
be  stated  more  in  terms  of  the  habitual  connections 
amongst  the  mental  processes  whose  types  we  now 
have  consciously  before  us.  Thus  we  are  able  to  say 
that  the  expression  of  the  stranger's  face  now  appears 
as  that  factor  in  the  present  consciousness  whose  simi- 
larity to  the  expression  of  the  face  of  the  inmate  of  our 
own  family  has  directly  suggested,  by  habitual  connec- 
tion, the  word  spoken  yesterday.  And  this  is  the 
empirical  truth  that  lies  at  the  basis  of  Wundt's  theory 
of  the  association  of  mental  elements. 

§  80.    In  ordinary  mental  experience  we  most  readily 
observe   associative   connections   in    two   forms,  which 
p 


2IO 

\ 


.1         OUTUNES  OF   PSYCHQLOGY       ,  ,0  u     f, 

I-  tradition   has   long   since   called   by  the   names,  Asso- 

0      ^  ciation   by  £2nJiguit^  and  Association   by   Similarity. 

Association   by    contiguity  is   illustrated   by  any  case 

where,  for  instance,  a  saddle  reminds  us  of  a  horse,  or 

a  man  reminds  us  of  some  other  man  with  whom   he 
* 

has   often   been   seen.      Association   by  similarity    has 

already  been  illustrated.     It  takes  place,  also,  in  case 
a   portrait   reminds    us    of    a    living   man.     The   older 
.  accounts  of  the  associative  process  sometimes  mentioned 
'other  associative  connections  than   these.      Thus   one 
'  spoke  of   association  by  contrast,  as  when  a  wedding 
reminds  us  of  a  funeral,  or  when  a  good  man  reminds 
us  of  a  vicious  man,  whose  characteristics  are  strongly 
opposed  to  his  own.     But  such  association  can  easily 
be  viewed  as    association   either   by   contiguity  or   by 
similarity.     Association  by  cause  and  effect  used  some- 
Ctimes  to  be  mentioned,  and  illustrated  by  cases  such  as 
those  wherein  the  surgical  instrument   reminds  us  of 
an  operation,  or  when  the  gathering  clouds  before  a 
thunder-storm  remind  us  of  the  rain.     But  here  again 
association  by  contiguity  is  obviously  prominent.     From 
what  has  been  said   it   is  now  evident   that   all   these 
forms  of  association  are  instances  of  the  same  funda- 
mental process,  viz.,  the  law  of  habit. 

§  8 1.  It  is  manifest  that  the  general  law  of  associa- 
tion, as  thus  far  stated,  concerns  itself  only  with  ten- 
dencies constantly  present;  but  in  no  wise  exhaustively 
describes  the  conditions  that  determine  any  individual 


THE   GENERAL   LAWS  OF   DOCILITY  211 

sequence,  or  simultaneous  union,  of  our  conscious  states. 
For,  at  any  moment,  our  present  consciousness  accom- 
panies cerebral  functions  that  have  been  in  the  past 
connected  with  very  different  other  processes.  Which 
one  of  these  connections  shall  determine  the  actual 
process  which  hereupon  becomes  prominent  in  the 
life  of  the  brain  or  in  our  outward  conduct,  is  not 
thus  determined.  Thus,  for  instance,  the  speaking 
of  any  word  of  our  language  involves  a  cerebral  func- 
tion, which  has  in  the  past  been  connected  with  great 
numbers  of  other  functions,  since  we  have  spoken  this 
word  in  the  most  various  contexts,  and  have  connected 
the  speaking  of  the  word  with  very  different  other 
functions.  In  consequence,  the  general  law  of  habit 
insures  indeed  that  the  word,  if  familiar,  shall  arouse 
certain  functions  which  are  inseparably  associated  with 
it.  But  the  general  law  of  habit  does  7iot  determine 
what  other  functions,  for  instance  what  other  words, 
or  what  other  cerebral  processes  of  a  nature  such  that 
mental  images  accompany  them,  shall  be  aroused 
immediately  after  we  have  heard  or  have  spoken  a 
given  word.  In  consequence,  our  mental  associations 
with  the  word  may,  upon  different  occasions,  vary  very 
widely,  and  yet  all  be  due  to  the  general  law  of  asso- 
ciation. Thus,  for  instance,  let  the  question  be  asked. 
Of  what  other  word  does  the  word  "  curfew  "  remind 
me }  In  case  I  have  begun  to  repeat  Gray's  Elegy ^ 
the  word  **  curfew  "  will  at  once  by  habit  arouse  the 


212  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

sequence  of  words,  "tolls  the  knell  of  parting  day." 
In  case  a  familiar  modern  bit  of  verse  comes  to  mind, 
the  word  "curfew"  will  be  associated  with  the  phrase 
"  shall  not  ring  to-night."  And  thus  the  associations 
may  vary  indefinitely. 

What  particular  cerebral   habit  triumphs  in  case  of 
a  given  present  experience,  the  general  statement  of 
the  law  of  habit  enables  us  to  predict,  only  in  so  far  as 
}W      it  lays  stress  upon  the  fact  that,  all  other  things  being 
'\i  ^|ij  ^equal,  the  most  frequently  exercised  habit  tends  in  any 
iw    • '•'  /given  case  to  be  most  readily  aroused.     As  a  fact,  the 
word  "  curfew  "  is  certain  to  have  some  inevitable,  or 
as  some  call  it  "inseparable,"  association  in  the  mind 
of  any  one  who  is  familiar  with  the  word.     This  associa- 
tion will  be  determined  by  the  frequency  of  the  repeti- 
tion of  the  habit  in  the  past.     But  beyond  this  most 
general  rule,  the  law  of   habit  cannot  lead  us,  unless 
it  is  supplemented  by  other  considerations. 

§  82.  One  of  the  most  familiar  of  these  supplemen- 
]'  tary  considerations  is  the  one  expressed  by  saying  that 
ividly.  experienced  and  connected  ine^ital  contents  te?td 
to  be  favoured  by  the  associative  process.  Interpreted 
in  terms  of  cerebral  habit,  this  means  that  functions 
which  have  involved  decidedly  vigorous  alterations  of 
our  central  condition  tend  to  persist,  and  to  be  re- 
aroused  more  readily  because  of  the  deep  impression 
made.  Or,  in  other  words,  habitual  tendencies  become 
more  potent  not  only  by  virtue  of  frequency  of  repeti- 


THE  GENERAL  LAWS  OF  DOCILITY  213 

tion,  but  also  by  virtue  of  the  vigour  of  the  central  im-^^'-'^^ 
pressions  made  when  the  habit  is  established.     Thus,  a 
single  occurrence  of  a  connection  that  makes  a  very  deep 
impression  may  suffice  to  fix  a  habit  which  is  expressed 
to   consciousness  in   an   inseparable   association.      Yet 
this  principle  of  the  associative  potency  of  the  vividness 
of   our   experience   is    insufficient   to    supplement    the 
principle  of  frequency  sufficiently  to  explain  our  actual  J^^ 
associations.     A  further  principle  of  considerable  guid-  ,/u^-<x^ 
ing  value  is  furnished  by  the  fact  that  habitual  func-  I  ^  ) 
tions  which  have  recently  been  aroused,  tend  to  affec^ 
the  direction  which  present  functions  take.     When  we  f^'^^-^uM^i 
have  been  for  some  time  speaking  in  a  foreign  tongue,       ^"'^^'^'^ 
the  present  act  of  speech  is  accomplished  more  readily  "'^^ 

than  it  is  when  we  first  begin,  after  a  long  pause,  to 
speak  the  foreign  language.  Here  our  present  associa- 
tions are  in  part  determined  by  the  character  of  the 
immediately  preceding  associations.  Every  kind  of 
activity  tends  to  run  more  smoothly  after  it  has  been 
carried  on  for  a  Httle  time.  If  we  miss  our  way  in 
repeating  a  well-known  recitation,  the  prompter  may 
fail  to  guide  us  successfully  if  he  gives  us  but  a  single 
word.  But  if  he  repeats  several  words  of  the  forgot- 
ten passage,  the  combined  associative  effect  of  these 
words  enables  us  to  go  further.  Thus,  in  general,  t/ie 
present  course  ofassociatiofi  is  determined  by  the  associa- 
tive influence,  not  vierely  of  mental  states  noiv  present 
to  consciousness y  btit  of  mental   states    which    have   re- 


214  OUTLINES  OF   rSYCHOLOGY 

cently  been  present  to  co7iscionsness.  The  interpreta- 
tion of  this  fact  in  terms  of  the  nature  of  our  cerebral 
function  is  not  difficult.  Every  function,  when  once 
exercised,  tends  to  prepare  the  way  not  only  for  the 
immediately  succeeding  functions,  but  for  functions 
which  follow  at  any  time  within  a  considerable  interval. 
And  consequently,  amongst  the  associations  that  might 
occur  at  any  moment,  that  one  most  hkely  triumphs 
which  is  most  helped  out  by  recent  associations. 

§  83.  But  the  course  of  our  associations  is  also  deter- 
mined by  still  more  complex  processes.  Some  of  these 
are  dimly  represented  by  the  whole  state  of  our  feelings 
at  any  moment.  In  one  mood  we  think  of  one  kind 
of  series  of  objects;  or  in  other  words,  one  set  of 
associations  then  triumphs  over  all  others.  Change  the 
mood,  and  the  direction  of  our  associations  changes. 
James  instances  in  this  connection  the  influence  which 
an  emotional  disturbance,  such  as  that  which  accom- 
panies sea-sickness,  may  seem  to  exert  upon  the 
sequence  of  our  associations.  Yet  the  emotions  them- 
selves are  inadequate  to  indicate  the  way  in  which  the 
general  conditions  of  our  brains  at  any  moment  deter- 
mine the  selection  of  one  rather  than  another  series  of 
habits  as  the  triumphant  tendency. 

We  earlier  spoke  of  what  we  called  the  "  set "  of  the 
brain  at  any  time.  As,  in  a  great  railway  station,  with 
a  system  of  interlocking  switches,  one  group  of  tracks 
may  be   simultaneously  set   so   that  they  are  open   to 


THE  GENERAL  LAWS  OF   DOCILITY  21 5 

traffic,  while  other  tracks  are  closed,  so,  only  with  m.^'\^L^r/X 
nitely  greater  complexity,  the  brain  at  any  time  is  in,  /'  ^-* 
a  condition  of  preparedness  for  one  rather  than  for 
another  collection  of  interrelated  and  interwoven  func- 
tions. Associations  that  correspond  to  some  other  con- 
nection of  functions  may  be  entirely  excluded  by  this 
present  "  set "  of  the  brain.  Thus,  during  a  lecture, 
the  lecturer  is  forced  to  one  series  of  associations,  which 
the  various  incidents  of  the  lecture  room  may  modify, 
but  which  nothing  but  an  entire  interruption  of  the 
lecture  can  alter  during  the  hour.  The  lecture  over, 
his  brain  soon  assumes  another  '*  set,"  and  he  may  be 
even  unable  to  recall  sequences  of  ideas  that  during  the 
lecture  appeared  perfectly  obvious  and  necessary.  Now 
our  current  mood,  or  emotional  condition,  often  repre- 
sents with  considerable  accuracy  such  a  general  condi- 
tion of  preparedness  on  the  part  of  the  brain.  In 
consequence,  we  may  know  that,  in  a  given  mood,  we 
can  think  successfully  on  certain  kinds  of  subjects,  but 
not  upon  certain  others.  But  there  are  indeed  changes 
and  conditions  of  **  set "  of  brain  which  are  not  ade- 
quately represented  by  our  moods  and  changes  of 
mood.  In  such  cases  we  have  very  imperfect  conscious 
warning  as  to  what  course  our  associations  will  take, 
and  are  obhged  to  find  out  what  connections  are  then 
paramount  merely  by  observing  the  result. 

Social  influences  especially  affect  the    "  set "  of  the 
brain.     In  one  kind  of  company  we  find  ourselves  pre- 


2l6  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

pared  for  one  type  of  association,  while  in  another 
company  the  same  objects  or  ideas  when  presented 
arouse  wholly  different  conscious  consequences.  In 
the  phenomena  which  occur  in  great  crowds  of  people, 
under  exciting  conditions  (the  so-called  "  phenomena  of 
the  mob  "),  the  alteration  of  associative  processes  from 
those  which  occur  under  ordinary  conditions  may  be 
very  impressive.  Thus,  at  a  public  foot-ball  game,  a 
woman,  usually  pitiful  and  tender-hearted,  and  accus- 
tomed to  associate  the  sight  of  physical  injury  only 
with  kindly  acts,  or  with  expressions  of  sympathy  or 
of  horror,  may  show,  in  the  excitement  of  the  moment, 
extravagant  signs  of  joyous  fury  at  the  sight  of  an 
injury  to  a  player  on  the  side  to  which  she  is  opposed, 
and  may  for  the  time  be  reminded  by  this  sight  of  noth- 
ing so  much  as  the  wish  that  this  opponent  should  be 
rendered  wholly  incapable  of  playing  further.  The 
popular  excitements  of  the  French  Revolution  were 
largely  made  up,  so  far  as  concerns  the  psychical 
processes  involved,  of  anomalous  associations  of  ideas, 
and  of  deeds  due  to  such  changes  in  brain  habits 
as  were  occasioned  by  the  extraordinary  social  situ- 
ations of  the  time.  Such  phenomena  tend  greatly 
to  veil  the  regularity  of  the  general  laws  of  asso- 
ciation, and  come  to  be  explained  only  when  we 
observe  that  the  habits  aroused  at  such  moments 
have  a  sufficient  basis  in  cerebral  tendencies  estab- 
lished   far    back    in    the    childhood    of    the    persons 


THE  GENERAL   I^WS  OF  DOCILITY  21/ 

concerned,  or  in  activities  that  their  normal  life  keeps 
in  the  background. 

Amongst  the  general  brain  conditions  which  most 
modify  the  types  of  associative  processes  that  can 
occur,  the  conditions  of  acute  fatigue,  and  those 
chronic  conditions  which  are  in  many  respects  equiva- 
lent to  those  of  acute  fatigue,  are  prominent.  The 
German  psychologist  and  psychiatrist  Kraepelin  has 
experimentally  investigated  such  processes  in  his  labora- 
tory. In  acute  fatigue  the  associations  tend  to  acquire 
a  character  of  incoherence,  somewhat  similar  to  that 
which  is  observable  in  the  deliriums  that  accompany 
exceedingly  exhausting  nervous  disorders.  In  the  field 
of  verbal  associations,  rhyming  and  punning  associa- 
tions often  tend  in  such  states  of  fatigue  to  take  the 
place  of  more  rational  and  useful  sorts  of  association. 
The  habits  upon  which  the  power  to  add  figures 
depends  come  to  work  loosely  at  such  times,  and  fre- 
quent errors  result.  The  phenomena  are  in  a  measure 
known  to  us  in  ordinary  life.  Laboratory  experiment 
emphasises  them,  and  shows  them  to  be  present  in  cases 
where  they  would  escape  ordinary  observation.  The 
psychological  continuity  between  the  phenomena  of 
fatigue  and  those  of  the  incoherent  forms  of  delirium 
is  thus  suggested. 


CHAPTER  IX 

Docility 

a.    perception  and  action 

§  84.  The  general  law  of  habit  is  manifested  through- 
out the  whole  range  of  our  docility.  But  its  results 
appear  in  a  large  number  of  different  types  of  mental 
phenomena,  whose  relations  to  the  general  law  may 
now  be  illustrated.  In  case  of  all  these  types  of  expe- 
rience, we  have  phenomena  illustrating  the  way  in  which 
what  has  happened  to  our  organism  in  the  past  modifies 
jboth  the  present  state  of  our  consciousness  and  the 
tpresent  tendencies  of  our  actions.  We  shall  endeavour 
as  far  as  possible  to  develop  both  these  aspects  side  by 
side,  not  sundering  the  intellectual  life,  which  has  to  do 
with  our  consciousness  of  objects,  from  our  voluntary 
life,  which  has  to  do  with  our  consciousness  of  acts, 
except  in  so  far  as  mere  convenience  of  exposition  ren- 
ders it  advisable  to  do  so. 

§  85.  When  external  physical  objects  affect  our  sense 
organs,  they  produce  complex  disturbances  both  of  these 
and  of  the  corresponding  centres  of  the  brain.  These 
disturbances  in  general  tend  to  pass  over  into  motor 
tracts,  and  to  produce  certain  movements  which,  at  first, 

218 


DOCILITY  — PERCEPTION   AND   ACTION  219 

are  determined  by  the  hereditary  tendencies  of  the  brain, 
i.e.  by  what  is  called  our  instincts ;  while,  in  the  long 
run,  these  instincts,  modified  as  well  as  aroused  through 
our  various  and  repeated  sensory  stimulation,  take  the 
form  of  acquired  habits  of  actiofi.  TJie  accompanying 
consciousness^  in  so  far  as  it  is  simple ^  and  is  determined 
by  our  habits  of  direct  adjustment  to  objects  that  are  re- 
peatedly prese^it^  constitutes  what  we  call  our  perceptio?i 
of  these  objects. 

Thus,  to  take  a  comparatively  simple  instance,  a  child 
in  the  first  year  of  life,  who  has  already  reached  the 
"grasping"  age,  sees  a  bright-coloured  object,  grasps 
at  it,  seizes  it,  and  carries  it  to  his  mouth.  The  act  is 
determined  by  complex  sensory  stimulations,  visual  and 
tactual.  The  act  itself  consists  of  a  series  of  move- 
ments. These  involve  focusing  the  eyes  upon  the  ob- 
ject, by  movements  which  include  the  accommodation 
of  each  eye  to  the  function  of  clear  vision,  and  the 
convergence  of  the  eyes  through  a  cooperation  of  the 
muscles  of  both.  That  the  eyes  thus  act  together  as 
a  single  organ,  has  resulted  from  a  very  early  training 
of  inherited  tendencies.  The  movements  concerned 
also  include  the  act  of  grasping.  This  is  a  complex 
motor  process,  which  depends  upon  a  modification  of 
instinctive  tendencies  that  slowly  grow  up  during  the 
early  months  of  life.  When  the  sight  of  the  object  is 
followed  by  the  seizing  of  the  object,  one  set  of  sense 
impressions  leads,  through  a  series  of  movements,  to  the 


220  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

obtaining  of  another  set  of  sense  impressions,  viz.,  those 
of  touch.  The  child's  effort  to  get  at  the  object,  in 
order  to  seize  it,  suggests  to  us  that,  before  he  grasps 
the  object,  he  has  mental  images  which,  in  connection 
with  certain  feelings  of  restless  eagerness,  constitute  a 
certain  anticipation  of  how  the  object  will  feel  when  it 
is  touched.  These  images  are  similar  to  former  experi- 
ences of  touch  which  the  child  has  already  obtained 
when,  on  former  occasions,  he  grasped  something.  The 
successful  seizure  of  the  object  leads  over,  through  a 
series  of  feehngs,  and  perhaps  of  images,  to  the  con- 
sciousness that  the  child  obtains  when  begets  the  object 
into  his  mouth. 

We  have  here,  in  the  outward  manifestations  of  mind, 
a  sequence  of  movements  which  are  tnanifestations  of  hab- 
its, the  habits  being  due  to  the  effect  of  former  experi- 
ence upon  inherited  instinct.  Within  the  child's  mind 
we  may  very  naturally  suppose  a  sequence  of  conscious 
states,  which  is  determined  partly  by  seiise  impressiojzSy 
and  partly  by  associations.  When  he  sees  the  bright 
object,  he  simultaneously  associates  with  this  object  cer- 
tain images  and  feelings ;  and  these  images  and  feelings 
resemble  his  former  experiences  in  cases  where  he  has 
seen  and  grasped  objects.  The  child's  consciousness,  as 
it  proceeds  from  this  first  simultaneous  association  to 
the  later  stages  of  his  grasping  of  the  object,  consti- 
tutes what  we  should  call  a  se^'ies  of  perceptions  of  the 
object  which  he  successively  sees,  touches,  and  tastes. 


DOCILITY  — PERCEITION   AND   ACTION  221 

But  when  he  sees  the  object,  he  already,  by  means  of 
simultaneously  associated  images  of  touch,  and  of  his 
own  muscular  movements,  and  possibly  of  taste,  antici- 
pates and  perhaps  eagerly  desires  what  later  becomes  a 
present  fact  of  his  consciousness.  In  other  words,  the 
sight  of  the  object  becomes  to  him  a  sign  of  its  attrac- 
tiveness and  of  its  character  as  an  object  of  touch  and  of 
taste.  And  in  similar  ways  the  object,  when  touched  or 
when  tasted,  becomes  to  him,  through  association,  a  sign 
of  yet  other  experiences  than  those  that  are  present  to 
him.  For  he  continues  to  experiment  upon  it  until  he 
drops  the  play  and  passes  over  to  some  other  object. 

The  process  thus  hypothetically  analysed  from  our 
point  of  view,  is  of  a  type  that  we  are  likely  to  con- 
ceive as  present  to  the  child's  mind,  just  because  the 
child,  when  awake  and  lively,  may  show,  for  a  while, 
such  a  strong  interest  in  studying  the  objects  of 
sense. 

§  S6.  In  our  own  perceptive  consciousness,  as  we  or- 
dinarily possess  it,  there  is  usually  less  of  emotional 
concern  and  of  varied  sensory  examination  than  the 
child  shows  us.  Hence  our  own  perceptions  often 
seem  to  us  to  be  purely  intellectual  facts  directly 
present  to  consciousness  when  our  sense  organs  are 
stimulated,  and  not  to  be  so  mingled  with  a  conscious- 
ness of  our  feelings  and  of  our  motor  processes  as 
the  child's  consciousness  would  seem  to  be.  But  we 
have  only  to  consider  the  origin   of   our  present  per- 


222  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

ceptions  in  order  to  become  convinced  that  ivhat  at 
present  our  scjise  organs  show  tis  with  regard  to  the 
object,  not  only  constitutes  but  a  small  portion  of  what 
we  know  or  rnay  know  about  the  object,  but  also  has 
acquired  its  whole  present  mea^iing  for  us  through  pro- 
cesses that,  in  the  past,  have  been  as  complex  as  those 
of  the  grasping  child,  or  perhaps  much  7nore  complex 
than  his  have  yet  become.  Our  present  conscious  per- 
ception of  any  object  which  impresses  our  sense 
organs  is  a  sort  of  brief  abstract  ajid  epitome  of  our 
previous  experience  iji  connection  with  such  objects. 
Because  we  have  so  often  grasped  such  objects  or 
approached  them,  or  considered  them,  from  various 
points  of  view,  because  they  have  so  often  excited 
the  movements  of  our  sense  organs,  or  have  incited 
us  to  get  this  or  that  control  over  them,  because 
they  have  so  often  aroused  our  feelings  of  restless- 
ness or  of  quiescence,  of  pleasure  or  of  pain,  because 
so  often  we  have  discovered  by  experience  the  results 
which  follow  upon  our  movements  in  the  presence  of 
these  objects  —  because  of  all  this,  I  say,  do  our  pres- 
ent sense  experiences  come  to  mean  to  us  what  they 
do  at  the  moment  when  we  perceive  anything.  We 
may  perceive  a  remote  object,  which  we  have  never 
grasped,  such  as  the  moon  or  as  yonder  mountain. 
But  this  object  has  in  the  past  aroused  us  to  great 
numbers  of  acts  whose  results  we  have  experienced. 
Or,  if   the  object   is  new  to    us,  similar  objects    have 


DOCILITY  —  PERCEPTION   AND   ACTION  223 

aroused  our  movements.  These  movements  have  been 
attended  with  feelings,  and  have  led  to  definite  results. 
TJie  total  result  of  all  siicJi  experiences  is  epitomised 
in    the  present   instantaneous  perception  of  this  object. 

At  the  very  least,  then,  when  we  perceive,  our  con- 
sciousness involves  whatever  our  sense  experience,  due 
to  the  object,  now  forces  upon  our  attention.  Our 
consciousness  also  includes,  as  a  general  rule,  some- 
thing corresponding  to  those  complicated  tendencies 
to  movement  which  the  object  arouses  within  us.  For 
perception  accompanies  some  adjustment  of  our  sense 
organs.  And  this  adjustment  is  reflected  in  our  con- 
sciousness, in  however  faint  or  unanalysed  a  form. 
And  the  perceived  object,  if  dwelt  upon,  very  fre- 
quently, reminds  us  in  a  more  or  less  vague  fashion 
of  various  sorts  of  actio7i  that  in  the  past  we  have 
performed  in  the  presence  of  such  objects,  in  addition 
to  these  adjustments  of  our  sense  organs. 

Look  long  at  a  knife,  and  you  are  likely  to  think  of 
cutting.  Dwell  long  on  your  perceptions  of  a  dog  or  ^  /< 
of  a  horse,  and  you  will  find  yourself  tending  to  fondle 
or  perhaps  to  avoid  him.  To  perceive  the  curbstone 
just  before  you,  as  you  walk,  is  to  adjust  your  move- 
ment to  the  object.  To  hear  the  bell  ring  at  the  close 
of  the  school  hour,  or  of  a  lecture,  is  to  be  aware  of 
something  now  to  be  done.  And  meanwhile,  as  you 
dwell  upon  your  perception  of  the  object,  you  are 
likely  to  image  what  zvould  be  the  result  of  doing  this 


224  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

or  that  with  the  object.  When  you  perceive  the  sharp- 
edged  knife,  you  may  be  reminded  not  only  of  the 
act  of  cutting,  but  of  the  possible  experience  of  being 
cut.  When  you  see  the  heavy  object,  you  may  find 
yourself  anticipating  the  effort  that  you  would  feel  in 
lifting  it.  When  you  observe  the  bottle  of  medicine, 
you  may  remember  the  unpleasant  taste  of  the  dose. 
§  Sy.  Meanwhile,  whatever  your  other  memories, 
V  ^/le  perceived  object  is  pretty  certaiji,  if  yon  dwell  upon 
it,  to  arouse  at  least  a  shade  of  feelijig.  If  it  is  a  fa- 
miliar object,  it  feels  familiar.  The  '^feeling  of  famil- 
iarity "  has  been  a  good  deal  discussed  by  some  recent 
psychologists.  It  normally  accompanies  the  percep- 
tion of  well-known  objects.  It  is,  on  the  whole,  of  the 
type  of  the  feelings  of  quiescence.  It  is  slightly  pleas- 
urable in  so  far  as  other  characters  of  the  object  do 
not  unite  with  it  painful  feelings.  Its  persistent 
absence  makes  us  long,  when  in  a  foreign  land,  for  the 
sight  of  something  homelike.  Its  marked  presence 
when  we  return  makes  the  most  indifferent  aspects  of 
the  home  land  seem  decidedly  pleasurable,  so  long  as 
the  joy  of  return  lasts.  In  very  faint  form  this  feeling 
colours  a  great  number  of  perceived  objects,  when 
other  features  of  the  perceptive  consciousness  are  al- 
most wholly  obscured.  The  feeling  may  be  present 
even  when  we  are  quite  unable  to  recall  upon  what 
former  occasion  we  have  observed  a  given  object.  The 
occurrence   of    the   feeling   under   relatively   abnormal 


DOCILITY— PERCEPTION  AND   ACTION  22$ 

conditions,  that  is,  when  we  are  sure  that  the  object  to 
which  the  feeling  attaches  itself  is  not  really  familiar, 
leads  to  that  uncanny  sense  of  having  "  experienced 
this  before,"  which  some  people  find  a  frequent  and 
puzzling  incident  in  their  experience.  In  such  cases 
the  incident  is  due  to  conditions  which  remain  still 
obscure,  but  which  seem  to  be  of  central  origin,  and 
of  a  slight  significance  as  signs  of  weariness  or  of  a 
certain  diminution  of  nervous  tone.  And  in  such  cases 
the  feehng  of  familiarity  leads  at  once  to  contrasting 
and  to  often  disagreeable  feelings  of  restlessness  and 
perplexity. 

Now  the  feeling  of  famiharity  seems  to  be  a  normal 
accompaniment  of  the  excitement  of  established  cere- 
bral habits,  and  seems  to  have  to  do  with  the  ease 
with  which  they  are  carried  out.  And  thus  this  aspect 
of  the  conscious  process  of  perception  has  its  obvious 
relation  to  our  cerebral  habits. 

§  88.  What  we  mean  by  the  perception  of  an  object 
is  a  cerebral  process  involving  features  of  the  fore- 
going kinds.  The  substance  of  the  matter  is  that 
the  prese7it  sense  disturbance  is  at  once  associated  luith 
a  co7isciousness  dne  to  already  established  inotor  habits, 
which  have  been  trained  in  the  presence  of  objects  similar 
to  the  one  now  present.  These  habits  may  be  of  the 
most  various  kinds,  and  the  consciousness  excited  by 
the  object  may  have  the  most  various  relations  to  the 
habits    themselves.      They   were    slowly   acquired,    by 


226  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

means  of  acts  that  took  a  considerable  time,  and  that 
were  associated  with  the  varied  and  complex  conscious- 
ness. The  perception  is  relatively  instantaneous.  It 
is  a  case  of  simultaneojis  associatioji.  It  is  relatively 
simple.  No7ie  the  less,  it  is  what  it  could  not  have 
become  except  for  the  previous  habits  of  movement  in 
the  presence  of  such  objects.  When  dwelt  upon,  a  per- 
ception tends  to  pass  over  into  a  more  explicit  con- 
sciousness of  what  some  of  these  motor  habits  are. 
It  also  tends  to  develop,  in  such  cases,  some  of  these 
habits  themselves ;  since,  as  we  watch  an  object,  we 
are  likely  to  approach  it,  to  grasp  it,  to  point  at  it,  to 
name  it,  and  otherwise  to  indicate  that  our  perception 
is  but  a  fragment  of  a  possible  conscioicsness  involving 
a  whole  system  of  feeling  and  of  conduct  in  the  presence 
of  such  an  object. 

The  practical  application  of  all  this  is  obvious.  If 
you  are  to  train  the  powers  of  perception,  you  must 
train  the  conduct  of  the  person  who  is  to  learn  how  to 
^l  perceive.  Nobody  sees  more  than  his  activities  have 
/prepared  him  to  see  in  the  world.  We  can  observe 
nothing  to  which  we  have  not  already  learned  to 
respond.  The  training  of  perception  is  as  much  a 
practical  training  as  is  the  learning  of  a  trade.  And 
it  is  this  principle  upon  which  the  value  of  all  arts, 
such  as  those  of  drawing,  of  experimenting,  and  of 
workmanship,  depends,  in  so  far  as  such  arts  are 
used,   as   in   all   modern   training   is   constantly   done, 


DOCILITY  —  PERCEPTION   AND   ACITON  22^ 

for  the  sake  of  developing  the  power  to  perceive. 
It  is  because  he  has  played  music  that  the  musician 
so  well  perceives  music.  It  is  because  of  his  habits 
of  workmanship  that  the  skilled  artisan  or  engineer 
can  so  well  observe  the  things  connected  with  his 
trade.  It  is  because  they  do  not  know  what  to  do 
that  the  untrained  travellers  in  a  foreign  land  often 
see  so  little,  and  find  what  they  had  hoped  to  be  a 
wealth  of  new  experience  a  dreary  and  profitless  series 
of  perplexities. 

The  ordinary  tourist  who  goes  out  in  a  "  personally 
conducted  party  "  to  see  the  beauties  of  nature,  or  to 
marvel  at  the  wonders  of  art,  first  looks  to  his  guide- 
book or  to  the  conductor  of  his  party  to  find  out 
what  he  should  do  or  say  or  remember  in  the  pres- 
ence of  the  wonders  when  he  meets  them.  His  device 
is  in  so  far  psychological  enough.  But  since  the 
guide-book  and  the  conductor  only  teach  him  to  re- 
peat formulas,  such  as  the  number  of  feet  contained 
in  the  height  of  the  pyramid  or  the  precipice,  or 
such  as  the  phrases  of  admiration  that  it  is  customary 
to  use  in  certain  cases,  the  tourist,  unacquainted  with 
other  modes  of  famihar  reaction  in  the  presence  of 
the  great  objects  which  he  is  to  observe,  gains  from 
the  trip  Httle  but  the  memory  that  he  has  been  in 
certain  places,  and  has  gone  through  the  fitting  pos- 
tures and  the  conventional  speeches.  Such  a  traveller 
brings  back  what  he  carries  with  him.     And  so  indeed 


228 


OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 


must  all  of  us  do,  only  it  is  a  pity  that  the  habits 
to  which  such  perceptive  processes  appeal  are  so 
barren.  It  is  the  leisurely  traveller  who  finds  time 
to  cultivate  new  habits,  and  thus  gradually  to  see  the 
wonders  as  they  are. 


CHAPTER   X 
Docility 

b.   assimilation 

§  89.  All  our  higher  intellectual  and  voluntary  pro- 
cesses depend  upon  the  general  laws  of  habit  in  ways 
which  still  need  a  further  characterisation.  This  char- 
acterisation must  consider  three  aspects  of  the  ways 
in  which  our  habits  become  organised,  and  of  the 
external  and  internal  conditions  which  determine  such 
organisation.  The  first  of  these  aspects  may  be  ex- 
pressed in  the  following  formula  :  New  habits  tend  to  / 
become  assimilated  to  older  habits.  The  result  is  that 
all  7iew  events  in  the  conscious  realm  tendy  in  conse- 
quence of  the  workings  of  the  associative  process,  to 
be  assimilated  in  type  to  the  conscious  events  which 
have  already  occurred.  The  more  special  results  of 
this  tendency  are  seen  in  the  fact  that  our  intellectual 
life  is  an  interpretation  of  new  data  in  terms  of 
already  formulated  ideas.  A  parallel  consequence  ap- 
pears in  the  fact  that  our  new  fashions  of  behaviour 
tend  to  superpose  themselves  upon  our  former  habits 
in  such  wise  as  to  produce  a  minimum  of  change  in 
these    latter.     All  forms  of  conservatism,  both  in   the 

229 


230  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

life  of  the  individual  and  in  the  life  of  society,  illus- 
trate this  principle. 

The  second  general  aspect  of  our  higher  intellectual 
and  voluntary  life  is  expressed  by  the  principle :  In 
the  course  of  mejttal  development  our  cojiduct  tends  from 
simplicity  and  uniformity  toward  a  constant  differentia- 
tion—  a  differentiation  which  is  not  opposed  to,  but 
which  runs  parallel  with  the  processes  of  assimilation 
just  characterised.  At  the  same  time,  and  for  the  same 
reason,  our  consciotisness,  as  it  develops^  tends  to  that 
S7ibstitutio7i  of  more  highly  analysed  and  more  definitely 
varied  states  of  mi7id  which  we  have  already  illus- 
trated when  we  spoke  of  the  way  in  which  the  psy- 
chologist tends,  as  he  studies  mental  hfe,  to  substitute 
analysed  for  unanalysed  states  and  processes  of  con- 
sciousness. The  existence  of  psychology  itself  is  con- 
sequently an  extreme  instance  of  this  tendency  to 
differentiation  in  the  course  of  the  development  of 
consciousness.  Yet  it  is  not  alone  the  psychologist 
whose  mental  life  tends  in  the  course  of  its  develop- 
ment from  the  simple  and  uniform  to  the  complex, 
analysed,  and  differentiated.  All  higher  development 
illustrates  the  process.  It  is  true  that  this  process  is 
always  opposed  and  limited  in  its  development  by 
tendencies  which  we  have  already  illustrated  when  we 
spoke  of  the  general  physical  laws  of  habit.  For 
functions  which  have  become  habitual  do  indeed  tend, 
by  virtue  of  that  welding  together  of  elementary  pro- 


DOCILITY  — ASSIMILATION  23 1 

cesses  of  which  we  before  spoke,  to  become  so  swift 
that  our  consciousness  no  longer  follows  their  complex- 
ity. But  in  so  far  as  our  functions  remain  conscious, 
our  consciousness  tends  to  a  constant  differentiation. 

Third,  we  have  an  aspect  of  the  higher  conscious 
processes  which  no  mere  outline  of  psychology  can 
pretend  to  treat  adequately,  but  which  even  such  an 
outline  cannot  venture  wholly  to  ignore.  The  habits  of 
the  human  being  and  his  accompanying  consciousness 
are  on  all  their  higher  levels  principally  determined  by 
social  influences.  His  acts  are  either  imitations  of  the 
acts  of  his  fellows,  or  else  are  acts  determined  by  a 
spirit  of  opposition  to  them.  In  consequence,  we  may 
formulate  the  principle  here  in  question  as  follows : 
All  our  tnore  significant  activities  aiid  states  of  con- 
sciousness occur  under  social  conditions^  are  responses 
to  socially  significant  stimuli,  and  lead  to  the  organisa- 
tion of  a  socially  effective  personality.  The  general 
significance  of  this  principle  will  soon  be  made  more 
manifest. 

I  propose  briefly  to  treat  these  three  principles  in 
their  order,  and  to  show  how  they  influence  the  higher 
grades  of  mental  life.  The  first,  Assimilation,  shall 
form  the  topic  of  the  present  chapter,  the  others  of 
the  immediately  subsequent  chapters. 

§  90.  In  stating  the  general  law  of  habit,  we  sup- 
posed the  ideal  case  of  a  brain  subjected  to  the  influence 
of  certain  new  stimuli  A,  B,  C,  and  £>.     We  supposed 


232  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

the  response  of  this  brain  to  these  stimuli  to  take  the 
form  of  the  corresponding  cerebral  adjustments  ^,  b,  c^ 
d.  We  then  pointed  out  how  these  functions,  a,  b,  c^  d, 
would  hereupon  tend  to  become  associated  together,  so 
r  that  further  occurrences  of  even  a  portion  of  the  former 
\  stimuH  might  be  sufficient  to  arouse  to  activity  this 
\  whole  collection  of  functions,  whether  they  were  simul- 
(  taneous  or  successive  functions.  But  as  a  fact,  when 
the  already  highly  developed  brain  is  impressed  by  new 
stimuli,  or  by  new  combinations  of  stimuli,  the  resulting 
cerebral  functions  are  sure  to  be  functions  that  already 
have  habitual  connections  with  still  other  cerebral 
functions,  which  the  law  of  habit  has  already  woven 
into  closely  related  total  processes.  Thus  the  function 
\  a,  which  the  new  experience  tends  to  arouse  in  connec- 
tion with  the  functions  b,  c,  d,  is  already  connected  by 
habit  with  functions  a\  a",  etc.  In  similar  fashion  b 
is  connected  with  functions  b',  b",  etc.  And  the  same 
holds  true  of  the  other  functions  concerned  in  that  new 
connection  which  the  disturbance  A,  B,  C,  D,  tends  to 
bring  to  pass.  It  follows  that  the  new  connection  a,  by 
Cy  dy  cannot  be  formed,  through  the  influence  of  the 
new  external  disturbance,  without  the  attendant  awaken- 
ing of  former  connections  amongst  cerebral  functions. 
But  these  older  connections  may,  and  generally  will,  be 
antagonistic  to  the  formation  of  the  new  habit.  For 
the  connection  of  the  function  a  with  a^  may  by  itself 
tend  to  lead  to  an  act  very  different  from  that  in  which 


DOCILITY  —  ASSIMILATION  233 

the  functions  a,  b,  c,  d,  express  themselves  when  they 
are  free  to  be  carried  out. 

To  illustrate :  Let  the  new  stimuli  be  the  sounds  of 
certain  words  heard  in  this  connection  for  the  first  time. 
The  new  habit,  which  this  series  of  words  would  by 
itself  tend  to  establish,  would  take  the  form  of  a  power 
to  repeat  just  that  series  of  words.  But  now  each  one 
of  these  words  may  already  have  other  habitual  associa- 
tions. If  any  one  of  these  associations  is  so  strong  that 
it  tends  at  the  moment  to  get  expressed  in  acts,  these 
acts,  so  far  as  they  become  realised,  will  prove  an- 
tagonistic to  the  formation  of  the  new  habit.  In 
general,  if  familiar  objects  are  already  known  to  me 
in  certain  connections,  it  may  be  for  that  reason  all 
the  harder  to  learn  to  remember  them  in  new  connec- 
tions. Or  again,  suppose  that  I  am  required  to  repeat 
some  familiar  act  or  series  of  acts,  in  a  novel  order,  as 
for  example  to  repeat  the  alphabet  backwards.  The 
new  habit  will  meet  at  every  step  with  a  certain 
opposition  due  to  the  persistence  of  the  old  habit.  A 
complex  case  of  the  difficulties  in  question  is  furnished 
by  the  perplexities  of  a  countryman  who  first  comes  to 
live  in  a  city,  or  by  the  vexations  of  a  traveller  in  a 
foreign  country.  For,  in  all  such  instances,  many  of  the 
new  impressions  tend  to  revive  old  habits,  and  conse- 
quently tend  to  hinder  the  acquisition  of  those  new 
habits,  which  are  needed  in  order  to  adjust  the  stranger 
to  his  novel  surroundings. 


234  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

In  consequence  of  this  inevitable  relation  of  new- 
habits  to  old  ones,  what  is  most  likely  to  occur  in 
consequence  of  the  influence  of  new  disturbances 
upon  an  already  highly  trained  organism,  tends  to 
involve  a  sort  of  compromise  between  new  impressions 
and  fo7'mer  habits.  Because  the  new  impressions  are 
vivid,  they  will  tend  of  themselves  very  strongly  to  the 
formation  of  new  habits  and  adjustments.  But  because 
the  older  habits  are  persistent,  either  they  will  constantly 
tend,  by  their  interference,  to  prevent  the  new  habits 
from  becoming  fixed,  or,  in  case  such  fixation  occurs, 
the  old  habits  will  gradually  assert  their  influence  by 
adding  to  the  new  functions  older  ways  of  behaviour,  or 
by  eliminating  some  of  the  characteristic  features  of  the 
newer  modes  of  conduct,  or  in  general  by  assimilating 
the  newly  acquired fimctions  to  fimctions  already  prese7it. 

§  91.  The  resulting  effects  upon  our  consciousness  is 
very  profound.  Nezv  ideas  are  likely  to  be  acquired  only 
in  case  they  become  in  a  considerable  w,easnre  assimilated 
to  ideas  such  as  zve  already  possess.  New  fashions  of 
thinking  tend,  as  we  form  them,  to  lose  something  of 
their  novelty  by  assimilation  with  older  ways  of  think- 
ing. Our  whole  life  both  of  conduct  and  of  intellect, 
both  of  volition  and  of  comprehension,  is  therefore 
pervaded  by  interpretations  of  new  facts  in  terms  of 
old  facts,  by  reduction  of  new  practices  to  the  form 
of  old  practices,  and  by  a  stubborn  resistance,  which 
increases  with  our  age  and  training,  to  the  formation 


/ 


DOCILITY  — ASSIMILATION  235 

of    novel    customs,    or    to    the    acceptance    of    novel 
opinions. 

This  bearing  of  tJie  laiv  of  the  conservatism  of  cere- 
bral habits  i{poii  the  constitution  of  our  conscious  life, 
is  of  the  sort  that  we  already  in  general  characterised 
when  we  spoke  of  the  law  of  association.  While  our 
consciousness  does  not  in  general  correspond  in  its 
complexity  to  the  wealth  of  our  habitual  cerebral  pro- 
cesses, there  are  no  connections  amongst  our  conscious 
states  which  are  not  also  represented  by  connections 
amongst  our  cerebral  processes.  Hence,  the  tendency 
of  new  habits  to  be  assimilated  to  old  ones  is  repre- 
sented by  the  tendencies  of  relatively  novel  mental 
states  and  connections  to  resemble  in  type  those 
to  which  we  are  already  used. 
^>}  §  92.  The  illustrations  of  the  law  of  assimilation  in 
our  conscious  life  are  multitudinous,  and  are  of  great 
practical  importance  to  the  teacher.  It  may  be  well 
to  enumerate  a  few  of  them :  — 

First,  noi'el  objects,  that  are  otherwise  indifferent, 
and  that  are  presented  to  the  senses,  tcjid  to  awaken 
our  attention^  and  to  become  objects  of  definite  con- 
scionsjiess,  at  the  moment  luJien  we  are  able  in  some 
respect  to  recognise  them.  Apart  from  some  decided 
importance  which  a  novel  object  possesses  for  our 
feelings,  the  ?iew  iii  our  experience^  in  so  far  as  it  is 
unassimilablcy  tends  to  escape  .^our  notice.  This  has 
already   been   illustrated   in    case    of   our   perceptions. 


236  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

The  way  for  new  experiences   that   are  to   be   assimi- 
lated  must   be   carefully   prepared.     If   a   pupil   is  to 
be  made   to   understand  novel   objects,  they   must   be 
made,  as  far   as   possible,  to    seem    relatively   familiar     h 
to  him  at  each  step  of  the  process,  as  well  as  relatively    L\ 
novel.     Otherwise  he  may  simply  fail  to  notice  them-''^^ 
Sense  in  vain  presents  what    organised    experience   is 
not   prepared   to    assimilate.     The    exceptions   to   this     0 
rule   occur,    as   just   pointed    out,   only  in    case   either 
of    very   intense   experiences    or    of    experiences    that     ''--^ 
appeal  pretty  strongly  to   the  feelings.     Since   experi- 
ences of  this  latter  sort  play  too  small  a  part  in  the  prac-^/  . 
tical  work  of  teaching,  the   law   of   assimilation    must   -7' 
be  especially  and  consciously  considered  by  the  teacher*-^ 
^  We  see  in  our  world,  in  general^  what  we  come  prepared  \ 
I  to  see.  t'I 

The  psychologists  of   the  Herbartian  school  are  ac-  V 
customed   to    call   this    process    of   the    acquisition   of  J 
knowledge   through   the  assimilation    of   new    data   to 
former    experience    by    the    name    of    Apperception.'^ 
The  insistence  that  all  learning  is  a  process  of  apper- 
ception, and   that   perception  without   apperception   is 
impossible,  is    one    of   the  principal   practical   services 
of   the    Herbartian    psychologists   in   their    efforts    to 
apply  psychology  to  education. 

§  93.  But  the  principle  here  in  question  is  not  con- 
fined in  its  application  to  the  phenomena  of  direct 
perception.      TJie  tendency  of  the  old  to  assimilate  the 


DOCILITY  — ASSIMILATION  237 

new  influences  the  formation  of  all  our  customary  men- 
tal imagery.  We  have  but  a  very  inadequate  tendency 
to  image  the  details  of  our  past  experience,  in  so  far 
as  these  details  are  unique,  and  are  not  repetitions 
of  customary  facts.  Hence  it  is  that  our  memory  of 
our  past  lives  takes  the  form  of  a  memory  of_J^>fical 
fasJiiojis  of  bcJiaviaur^f  expe-rience^  and  of  feeling,  rather 
than  the  form  of  a  precise  and  detailed  recall  of  the 
exact  order  of  individual  events.  How  far  this  holds 
true,  popular  psychology  is  disposed  to  ignore.  For 
since  it  is  indeed  true  that  we  do  often  recall,  with 
more  or  less  accuracy,  a  large  number  of  detailed 
events  in  our  own  past  lives,  it  becomes  customary  to 
suppose  that  such  recall  of  details  is  the  regular  mani- 
festation of  a  normal  memory.  As  a  fact,  however, 
the  individual  events  in  our  past  experience  which  we 
accurately  remember,  and  which  we  are  able  to  bring 
before  us  in  the  form  of  precise  and  adequate  images, 
are  but  an  extremely  small  portion  of  our  actual  past 
lives.  Let  the  reader  try  to  write  down  how  many 
of  the  events  that  occurred  in  a  single  month  of  last 
year  he  can  remember  or  image,  as  they  occurred  in 
his  experience,  and  in  their  true  order,  and  he  will 
quickly  be  able  to  verify  how  small  a  proportion  of 
the  facts  of  which  his  life  has  consisted  he  is  able  to 
recall  in  the  way  in  which  they  occurred.  One  reason 
why  we  commonly  fail  to  take  note  of  these  defects 
of   our   memory  for   the    details  of   experience  lies  in 


a 


238  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

the  fact  that  those  events  which  we  most  easily  do  re- 
call are  likely  to  have  been  so  often  gone  over  and 
over  in  our  memory  that,  in  the  case  of  such  events, 
we  have  formed  certain  fixed  habits  of  narrating  them, 
or  of  presenting  to  our  consciousness  detailed  series 
of  images  by  means  of  which  we  depict  them.  But 
in  all  such  instances  a  generalised  habit  has  been  in 
large  measure  substituted  for  the  live  memory  of  the 
individual  event  itself.  And  so  we  indeed  recall  this 
or  that  scene  of  childhood  or  of  last  year  very  clearly ; 
but  we  cannot  recall  how  often  we  have  recalled  that 
event.  For,  as  a  fact,  the  memory  of  the  individual 
event,  as  it  now  is  in  mind,  is  the  result  of  gradually 
acquired  habits  of  depicting  the  event  in  this  or  in 
that  way.  These  habits,  as  they  have  been  formed, 
have  been  subject  to  the  law  of  assimilation.  Repeated 
efforts  to  recall  interesting  past  events  have  taken 
place,  in  accordance  with  our  tendency  to  repeat  over 
and  over  certain  fashions  of  action,  and  to  assimilate 
new  processes  with  old  processes.  The  result  is  that 
most  of  our  memories  of  long-past  events  are  systemati- 
cally ^  although  very  unequally^  falsified  by  habit.  We 
remember  a  way  of  recounting,  or  of  imaging  our 
own  past,  rather  than  this  past  itself.  The  result  very 
clearly  appears  when  one  is  able  to  compare  the  remi- 
niscences of  pioneers,  military  heroes,  and  similar  re- 
porters of  their  own  experience,  with  contemporary 
records  and  monuments. 


DOCILITY  — ASSIMILATION  239 

§  94.  What  we  do  remember  with  the  greatest  accu- 
racy regarding  our  past  life  is  the  repeated  occurrence 
of  some  type  of  experiejice.  Thus,  you  remember  what 
kind  of  person  your  brother  is,  and  what  it  means  to 
meet  with  him  or  to  converse  with  him.  But  you  do 
not  remember  upon  how  many  and  what  individual 
occasions  you  have  seen  your  brother.  If  some  such 
occasions  do  indeed  stand  out  with  a  relatively  indi- 
vidual character  in  your  experience,  that  is  because, 
through  the  assimilation  of  new  events  to  former  fash- 
ions of  memory  and  of  behaviour,  you  have  formed  cer- 
tain fixed  habits  of  repeating  over  and  over  in  the  same 
way  your 'images  or  your  narratives  relating  to  those 
individual  occasions.  Or  again,  you  remember  the  way 
home ;  but  you  do  not  remember  how  many  times 
you  have  passed  over  that  way. 

A  classic  instance,  both  of  the  defects  of  our  mem- 
ory and  of  its  general  subjection  to  the  law  of  assimi- 
lation, is  furnished  by  the  well-known  accounts  which 
older  people  are  accustomed  to  give  of  what  they  fre- 
quently describe  as  the  ''old-fashioned  winters  "  of  their 
childhood.  "The  winters,"  so  such  a  person  may  say, 
"  are  no  longer  such  as  they  used  to  be  when  I  was  a 
boy.  At  that  time  the  snow  began  to  fall  in  November, 
and  lay  almost  steadily  until  March.  We  had  sleighing 
nearly  all  the  time,  and  especially  at  Christmas.  The 
harbour  used  to  freeze  over.  The  skating  was  almost 
steadily  good.       But  nowadays  the  winters  are  full  of 


240  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

unsteady  weather :  there  are  frequent  thaws ;  the  sleigh- 
ing and  skating  are  in  no  wise  trustworthy ;  the  harbour 
almost  never  freezes  ;  in  fine,  the  climate  has  changed." 
That  such  reports  are  in  general  not  confirmed  by 
meteorological  records,  may  and  usually  does  seem  of 
little  importance  to  the  reporters  of  such  reminiscences. 
His  memory  is  his  own.  Facts  are  facts ;  and  meteoro- 
logical science,  he  tells  you,  is  notoriously  uncertain. 
He  prefers  to  trust  his  memory,  which  is  perfectly 
clear  on  the  subject.  Now  what  most  persons  fail  to 
notice  is  that  the  "  old-fashioned  winter  "  of  such  remi- 
niscences is,  on  its  very  face,  a  psychological  and  not  a 
meteorological  phenomenon.  The  human  memory  is 
essentially  incapable  of  retaining  a  series  of  accurate 
reports  of  phenomena  so  variable  and  inconstant  as 
those  of  the  weather.  In  such  a  field  only  general 
characteristics  can  be  remembered,  especially  after 
many  years.  How  good  an  account  can  you  now  give, 
from  memory,  of  the  precise  weather  changes  of  even 
the  past  month .?  But  even  general  characteristics  are 
themselves  not  accurately  recorded  by  memory,  in  case 
of  the  weather,  as  they  were  presented  in  fact ;  since  we 
have  no  cerebral  habits  that  are  capable  accurately 
of  representing  either  mean  temperatures,  or  amounts 
of  snow  fall,  so  long  as  precise  records  of  these  phe- 
nomena were  not  kept  at  the  time.  On  the  contrary, 
what  we  can  retain  in  mind,  especially  from  our  early 
youth,   are   the   memories  of  the  more  interesting  and 


DOCILITY  — ASSIMILATION  24I 

significant  habits  that  winter  weather  formerly  developed 
in  lis.  In  our  memories  the  images  that  survive  are, 
for  the  most  part,  assimilated  by  those  which,  when  we 
recall  the  past,  are  directly  connected  with  our  more 
vividly  recalled  habits.  As  the  youth  formed  his  most 
important  winter  habits  in  connection  with  great  snow- 
storms and  decidedly  cold  weather,  and  as  such  phe- 
nomena occurred  sometimes  early  and  sometimes  late 
in  winter,  and  were  of  especial  importance  to  him  in 
holiday  season,  his  memories  were  formed  accordingly. 
What  the  old  man  recalls  is  therefore  a  general  collec- 
tion of  interesting  winter  habits,  and  of  images  clustered 
about  them.  These  habits  define  for  his  consciousness 
a  certain  typical  object,  the  **  old-fashioned  winter," 
which  presumably  never  existed  as  he  remembers  it. 
The  dreary  individual  detail  of  the  actual  winters  of  his 
boyhood  has  happily  escaped  his  memory.  But  since 
lately,  say  in  the  present  winter,  he  has  such  dreary 
details  forced  upon  his  present  attention  by  uncom- 
fortable experiences,  he  does  indeed  recognise  that 
there  is  a  present  state  of  facts  which  he  cannot  assimi- 
late to  his  memories  of  the  ''old-fashioned  winter"  in 
question.  He  consequently  concludes  that  the  climate 
is  changing  or  has  changed.  Similar  processes  occur 
in  all  cases  where  the  "good  old  times,"  the  "young 
people  as  once  they  were,"  and  the  other  facts  of  the 
past,  are  praised  on  the  basis  of  established  memory 
habits. 


) 


242  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

§  95.  Notwithstanding  the  prevalence  of  assimilative 
processes  of  this  kind,  it  indeed  remains  true  that  we 
are  able^  by  persistent  activities,  aroused  in  us  by  our 
c7iviro)imenty  to  establish  new  habits  which  do  stand  in 
strong  contrast  to  the  habits  formerly  acquired.  The 
assimilative  tendency  is  merely  one  aspect,  although 
indeed  an  enormously  important  aspect,  of  the  brain's 
functions.  And  even  the  very  fact  mentioned  already 
in  connection  with  the  general  laws  of  association  — 
the  fact,  namely,  that  at  any  stage  of  our  development 
a  great  number  of  habits  have  already  been  developed 
in  the  brain,  and  that  these  older  habits  themselves  tend 
to  conflict  with  one  another  —  gives  us  a  means  for  find- 
ing room  for  decidedly  new  tendencies.  For  if  a  new 
tendency,  namely,  is  to  be  formed,  if  there  is  also  a 
predisposition  to  assimilate  this  new  tendency  to  a 
previous  cerebral  tendency  "^,"  and  if  in  addition, 
there  is  a  predisposition  to  assimilate  the  same  new 
function  to  still  another  former  tendency  "  <5 " ;  but 
if  meanwhile  the  functions  "  <^  "  and  "  <^  "  are  incon- 
sistent with  each  other,  and  so  tend  to  inhibit  each 
other  mutually,  then  there  is,  relatively  speaking,  more 
room  for  a  new  function  to  get  established,  much  as 
it  might  have  been  established,  in  a  brain  not  already 
burdened  by  the  former  habits  '*^"  and"^."  Thus 
assimilation,  which  is  usually  a  foe  to  novelty,  may 
indirectly  become  a  supporter  of  novelty,  if  only  there 
are  conflicting  tendencies  to  various  assimilations  which 


DOCILITY  —  ASSIMILATION  243 

in  some  respects  inhibit  one  another,  while  nevertheless 
enough  of  our  former  habits  remain  positively  effective 
to  prepare  us  in  a  sufficient  measure  for  the  new  com- 
ing habits. 

Thus,  to  illustrate :  the  untrained  traveller  sees  at 
first  little  that  is  important  in  the  foreign  country,  be- 
cause he  assimilates  what  he  sees,  in  so  far  as  it 
interests  him,  to  the  things  which  he  already  under- 
stands, while  what  he  does  not  assimilate  he  despises. 
On  the  other  hand,  let  a  traveller  who  has  already  seen 
various  countries,  for  instance,  countries  in  Europe  and 
countries  in  North  America  and  in  Asia,  visit  another 
new  country,  such  as  one  in  South  America,  or  in 
Africa.  Such  a  traveller  learns,  of  course,  by  assimila- 
tion, like  any  one  else.  But  he  also  learns  more  in  the 
same  time  than  does  the  inexpert  traveller  ;  and,  while 
he  assimilates,  he  rapidly  acquires  new  insight.  Why  .-* 
In  part,  because  what  he  sees  tends  at  once  to  remind 
him  of  the  conditions  present  in  various  formerly 
observed  countries.  But  any  two  sets  of  recognitions, 
in  such  cases,  stand  as  rivals  one  of  the  other.  If  both 
reach  his  clearer  consciousness,  the  resulting  contrast 
is  helpful.  If  each  inhibits  the  other  altogether,  the 
traveller  is  all  the  more  prepared  to  be  impressed  by  the 
new  facts.  In  brief,  if  I  observe  C,  and  tend  to  assimi- 
late C  both  to  A  and  to  B,  while  A  and  B  are  them- 
selves so  different  from  one  another  that  each 
assimilation  tends   to  inhibit   the    other,  then   through 


244  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

this  very  conflict,  I  may  become  more  aware  of  the 
novel  features  of  C.  My  assimilation  is  then  no  longer 
an  unobstructed  process  in  which  the  new  is  apper- 
ceived  merely  in  so  far  as  it  at  once  "blends"  with 
the  old;  but  becomes  an  obstructed  process  in  con- 
nection with  which  I  have  the  maximum  of  opportunity 
to  acquire  decidedly  new  habits  and  images. 

It  will  thus  be  seen  that  the  assimilative  process  is 
by   itself  7iever  the   whole   of  the  process  of   acquiring 
knowledge,  or  of  organising   either  our  perceptions  or 
our  memories.     The  novel  object  that  is  merely  assimi- 
lated is  perceived  indeed,  but  not  as  to  its  essentially 
novel   features.     In    order   that   new  habits  and  ideas 
should    be    acquired,    i.e.    in    order    that    knowledge 
should  grow,  it  is  in  general  necessary  that  our  assimi- 
lative processes  should  be  obstructed  as  well  as  potent, 
and  that  there   sJioiild  be  conflict   amo7igst  our  former 
habits    as    well  as   support    of    new  habits    by    them. 
In   brief,   just   as   the   perception    of  similarity  is  sup- 
ported by  the  perception  of  difference  in  all  our  con- 
sciousness, just  so  the  acquisition  of  knowledge  never 
occurs  by  means  of   mere  assimilation.      Assimilation 
must  always  be  supported  by  the  presence  of  disturb- 
ances which  arouse  us  to  attempt  the  expression  of  our 
habits,    and    consequently    must   always    involve    such 
activities  as  tend  in  some  measure  to  the  modification 
of  former  habits  by  virtue  of  the  influence  of  the  new 
disturbances. 


DOCILITY—  ASSIMILATION 


245 


§  96.    Our  assimilations  have  not  merely  to  do  with 
the  processes  of  perception  and  of  memory :  they  ap- 
pear on  the  highest  level  of  the  intellectual  life.     All 
our  tJiinking  involves  assimilation.     When  a  novel  ob- 
ject puzzles  us,  or  when  a  problem  baffles  us,  that  is 
because  we  have  not  yet  learned  to  assimilate  the  new 
experience   to   our   former   fashions  of   conduct.     But 
when  our  puzzle  is    thoughtfully  satisfied,  this  occurs 
because  we  have  learned  to  assimilate  the  new  facts  to 
the  old  principles,  i.e.  to  adjust  our  former  methods  of 
conduct,  with  a  minimum  of  change,  to  the  new  situa- 
tion.    When  the  problem  is  solved,  that  is  because  what 
baffled   us  about   a   question  which  was  asked,  but  to 
which  we  could  not  respond,   disappears,  because  we 
have  assimilated   the  matter  at  issue  by  remembering 
from  our  former  experience  an  answer  that  serves  the 
purpose.     To  be  sure,  such  assimilation  may  be  accom- 
panied with  alterations  of  habits  that  will  need  to  be 
considered    later  under  the  head  of  Mental   Initiative. 
Bnt  every  thoughtful  process  is,  in  at  least  o?ie  aspect,  a 
process  of  assimilation.     The  same  consideration  occurs 
to   us   when  we   take  note  of  what   is    meant   by    the 
process  so  characteristic  of  all  the  workings  of  thought, 
viz.,  of  the  process  called,   in   ordinary  language,   the 
"  explanation  "  of  facts.    To  "  explain  "  a  particular  fact, 
is  to  mention  a  principle  under  which  that  fact   falls. 
But  if  this  principle  is  to  explain  the  fact,  it  must  be  an 
already  known  principle.     An  already  known  principle 


246  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

exists  for  our  consciousness,  because  we  have  formed 
certain  habits  of  conduct  and  of  memory  which  this  prin- 
ciple expresses  in  a  brief  formula.  Before  we  discover 
how  to  explain  the  fact,  it  affects  us  as  any  sensory  dis- 
turbance does,  arousing  reactions,  but  not  as  yet  estab- 
lishing in  us  any  sufficiently  definite  reaction.  When 
we  find  the  principle  that  explains  the  fact,  we  assimilate 
our  mode  of  treating  the  fact  to  the  already  estabhshed 
habits  of  behaviour  which  the  principle  exempHfies. 

The  reasoning  process,  as  it  usually  occurs  in  con- 
sciousness, also  involves,  psychologically,  a  form  of 
assimilation.  We  reason  in  so  far  as  we  discover  that  a 
result  is  true  because  of  its  relation  to  previous  results. 
The  "  conclusion "  of  a  process  of  reasoning  follows 
from  the  "premises,"  because  we  already  believe  the 
premises,  and  observe  that,  if  they  are  true,  we  are  com- 
mitted, in  advance,  to  the  conclusion.  The  psychologi- 
cal processes  that  go  on  when  we  reason  involve  the 
assimilation  of  the  act  which  our  conclusion  expresses 
to  the  habits  of  action  expressed  by  the  premises.  The 
psychologist  is  indeed  not  concerned  with  the  logical 
question  as  to  why  the  conclusion  necessarily  follows 
from  the  premises.  But  he  is  interested  to  observe  that 
what  goes  on  in  the  mind  when  we  reason  is  of  the 
nature  of  an  assimilation  of  relatively  new  modes  of 
conduct,  such  as  the  conclusion  expresses,  to  already 
established  modes  of  conduct  which  the  premises  put 
into  words.     That  no  such  assimilation  is  complete,  that 


DOCILITY  — ASSIMILATION  247 

every  new  mode  of  conduct  differs  in  some  respects 
from  every  former  mode  of  conduct,  even  from  those 
which  it  most  resembles,  has  already  been  pointed  out. 
In  a  later  chapter  we  shall  study  certain  higher  aspects 
of  the  reasoning  process.  What  here  concerns  us  is 
that  while  reasoning  is  decidedly  more  than  mere  assimi- 
lation, it  always  involves  assimilation. 

Thus,  on  tJie  higJiest  and  on  the  lowest  levels  of  con- 
sciousness the  assimilative  process  appears  —  never  as 
the  whole  of  what  happens,  since  whenever  we  assimi- 
late anything  new  to  anything  old,  we  also  establish 
new  associative  connections ;  but  always  as  an  aspect 
of  what  happens,  since  the  trained  organism  can  never 
do  anything  entirely  new,  and  since  relatively  new 
habits  inevitably  involve  modifications  of  already  ex- 
isting habits. 


CHAPTER   XI 

Docility 

c.  differentiation 

§  97.  In  speaking  of  the  unity  of  consciousness  we 
pointed  out  that  there  is  in  it  always  a  variety,  which 
is  itself  inseparable  from  some  sort  of  unity.  We 
also  jx)inted  out  that  this  variety  appears  in  two  ways ; 
namely,  as  simultaneous  variety ;  (as,  for  instance,  when 
we  see  at  once  several  letters  on  the  page  before  us) 
and  successive  variety  (for  instance,  when  we  hear  in 
the  psychological  present  moment  a  brief  series  of 
sounds,  such  as  drum-taps,  or  such  as  the  successive 
tickings  of  a  watch).  We  further  saw  that,  as  our 
consciousness  develops,  we  may  come  to  possess  more 
and  more  highly  analysed  mental  states,  such  as  the 
musician  possesses  when  he  analyses  the  chord  that, 
to  the  unmusical  man,  is  a  single,  although  rich  sound, 
whose  variety  is  but  faintly  observable.  It  is  important 
*to  notice  that  this  increase^  in  analytic  power  occurs 
)especially  in  case  of  our  analysis  of   the  simidtaneoiLS 

yvariety  present  in  consciousness.     If  the  tones  of  the 

^  1' 

chord  are  struck  separately  and  successively,  even  the 
unmusical  man  notes  their  variety,  in  case  the  succes- 

248 


DOCILITY  — DIFFERENTIATION  249^^1  <  "-^  ^ 

sion   is  sufficiently  rapid,   and  is   not  too   rapid.     TheltC)  ^^ 
musician  observes  the  variety  when  it  is  simultaneous.   aXv^ 
It  is,  indeed,  true  that,  in  different  states  of  our  con-  '^VWtA 
sciousness,  we  are,  indeed,  differently  disposed  to  observe   Jly)iM 
successive  varieties ;    and  by  habit  we   do  greatly  in-    i^yJ^^ 
crease  our  skill  in  observing  the  successions  that  occur 
in  the  world.      Nevertheless,  the  increase  in  our  power) 
to  perceive  simtiltaneons  variety  and  to  bring  it  into  7^e-A 
lation    to    successive    variety^    especially   ma7'ks    mental  \ 
growth.     To   the  untrained  man  a  collection    of    pre- 
sented facts  is  likely  to  seem  a  confused  unity.      To 
the    trained  mind  collections   of  facts    which    are  pre- 
sented simultaneously   are    more   clearly   diffej'entiated. 
To   be   sure,   our  power  to  distinguish  simultaneously^ 
presented  facts,  is  always  very  sharply  limited  by  the)) 
narrowness  of  our  conscious  field.     Only  a  very  few 
(three  or  four)  distinct  facts  can  be  discriminated    in 
any  single  act  of  observation  of  simultaneous  varieties. 
But  within  the  limits  of  consciousness  we  can  learti  to 
discrimitiate  what  is  not  successive.     And   doing   this, 
even  in  our  own   narrow  way,  again  a?td  agai?i,  gives 
our  consciousness  its  character  as  a  sustained  process 
of  distinguishing  between  the  facts  present  to  us.     In  . 
general,  nearly   every  instance    of    such    power,   as    it 
appears   in  the  adult  consciousness,  seems  to  involve 
acquired  skill.     It  is  this  skill  to  which  we  refer  when 
we  speak  of  the  differentiation  of  consciousness.     The 
result  of  such  skill  is  that,  at  every  moment,  the  simul; 


250  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

taneous  and  the  successive  varieties  of  consciousness 
come  to  be  intimately  interwoven  and  connected. 
y!<-  §  98.  How  the  world  appears  to  the  wholly  un- 
trained consciousness  we  can  only  conjecture.  But 
we  certainly  get  no  evidence  that,  at  the  outset  of 
life,  the  infant  clearly  distinguishes  between  various 
present  facts.  It  is  also  certain  that,  as  the  case  of 
the  musical  chord  shows,  the  significant  discrimina- 
tions made  farther  on  in  hfe  are,  in  general,  the  re- 
sults of  training.  Of  what  nature  is  this  training  ? 
As  pointed  out  by  Professor  James,  and  as  very  gen- 
erally emphasised  by  modern  psychological  work,  our 
liscrimijiations  of  simultaneous  facts  seem,  in  general^ 
to  be  derived  from  previous  discrimination  of  successive 
^acts.  It  is  not  possible  to  say  that  this  law  is  absolute, 
or  that  no  discriminations  of  the  simultaneous  can  occur 
apart  from  previous  experience  of  the  successive.  But 
on  the  whole,  the  influence  of  the  discriminations  that 
we  actually  make  between  successive  facts  upon  our 
later  discriminations  of  simultaneous  facts  is  obvious, 
and  is  of  very  great  importance.  Thus,  when  the 
notes  of  the  chord  have  been  heard  in  quick  suc- 
cession, it  then  becomes  much  easier  to  distinguish 
them  when  they  are  sounded  simultaneously  in  the 
chord.  When  one  has  first  observed  in  succession 
a  number  of  various  tones  of  red,  and  has  then  ob- 
served in  succession  a  number  of  cases  of  red  that 
differ  only  in  saturation,  i.e.  in  the  degree  in  which 


DOCILITY  —  DIFFERENTIATION  2  5  I 

they  resemble  colourless  light,  it  then  becomes  possi- 
ble to  distinguish  between  the  colour  and  the  satura- 
tion of  a  given  presented  instance  of  red.  When 
one  has  become  acquainted  separately  and  at  dif- 
ferent times  with  two  persons  who  look  very  much 
alike  (as  for  instance,  twins),  it  becomes  much  easier 
to  observe  the  difference  between  them  when  they 
are  together.  Whoever  wishes  to  compare  very  care- 
fully two  objects  that  are  nearly  alike,  examines  them 
in  succession,  first  one,  and  then  the  other.  Then,  as 
he  sets  them  side  by  side,  their  difference  becomes 
more  obvious.  The  general  result  of  such  familiar 
facts  is  the  proof  that,  on  the  whole,  ive  lear7i  about 
the  differences  of  things  as  these  differences  appear  in 
successio7i,  and  that  hereby  we  acquire,  or  at  any  rate 
very  g7'eatly  increase,  our  power  to  observe  simulta7ieo7is 
differences. 

The  process  in  question  goes  on  through  life.  Suc- 
cessive variety  is  continually  used  as  a  means  of  inter- 
preting simultaneous  variety.  The  series  of  conscious 
facts  that  follow  one  after  another  are  constantly  used 
as  a  means  of  interpreting  the  coexistent  varieties  of  the 
world  without  us.  This  tendency  to  ijiterpret  the  simul- 
tafteous  iji  terms  of  the  successive,  is  one  of  the  most 
deeply  rooted  tendencies  in  our  nature.  It  has  to  do 
with  that  connection  between  consciousness  and  movement 
upon  whicJi  we  have  all  along  been  insisting.  Our  acts 
come  first  to  our  consciousness  as  successive  experiences 


252  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

which  present  to  us  differences  as  they  pass.  As  a 
result  of  these  successively  observed  differences  we  be- 
come able,  even  when  we  cease  some  particular  act,  to 
become  aware,  even  in  our  simultaneous  experiences,  of 
varieties  which  correspond  to  those  that  the  act  pre- 
sented to  us  successively.  In  consequence,  our  world 
comes  to  seem  to  us  differentiated  into  various  coexist- 
ent and  contemporaneous  facts.  Yet  we  first  learn  of 
these  very  facts  through  our  consciousness  of  the  suc- 
cessive stages  of  our  deeds.  Our  whole  idea  of  the 
world  of  coexistent  facts  seems  thus  to  be  derived,  just 
so  far  as  it  is  an  articulate  idea,  from  our  perception  of 
successive  facts.  At  least,  if  this  is  not  wholly  the  case, 
the  matter  is  in  the  main  thus  to  be  expressed. 

§  99.  The  first  great  example  of  the  way  in  which 
the  world  of  coexistence  becomes  differentiated  as  a 
consequence  of  what  we  have  learned  through  succes- 
jive  acts,  is  furnished  to  us  by  the  properties  which  we 
iscribe  to  the  physical  world  in  space.  In  space  before 
me  I  see  two  objects  which  I  regard  as  coexistent,  and 
which  I  more  or  less  clearly  observe  as  simultaneously 
present.  Yet  I  learn  to  discriminate  just  such  objects, 
to  compare  their  places,  to  know  whatever  I  know  about 
their  spatial  relations,  through  successive  acts  by  which 
I  first  fix  my  eyes  upon  one,  and  then  focus  them  upon 
another  of  these  objects,  or  by  which  I  first  touch  one 
and  then  the  other.  In  other  words,  I  continually  ex- 
plore space  through  countless  successive  acts  of  sight 


DOCILITY  — DIFFERENTIATION  253 

and  of  touch,  and  through  countless  movements  which 
I  also  accomplish  successively.  But  I  also  constantly 
reap  the  harvest  of  these  numberless  successive  acts  in 
the  form  of  my  power  to  discriminate  simultaneously 
present  spatial  phenomena,  and  to  set  them  in  definite 
relations  as  coexistent.  The  process,  despite  its  com- 
plexity, reduces  to  the  general  type  already  described, 
viz.,  I  perceive  the  difference  between  a  and  b  as  simul- 
taneous facts,  because  I  constantly  study  afresh  the  suc- 
cessive differences  of  the  type  of  a  transition  from  a  to  b. 
This  process  of  exploring  space  by  successive  move- 
ments never  comes  to  an  end  throughout  our  waking 
life.  Our  restlessly  moving  eyes,  our  constantly  chang-  • 
ing  attitudes,  as  we  observe  spatial  relations,  show  that 
we  are  all  the  while  interpreting  spatial  relations  afresh 
in  terms  of  our  experiences  of  succession.  But  what 
here  most  interests  us  is  that  ive  constantly  viake  use  f 
of  the  successive  discriminations  for  the  sake  of  inter-  , 
preting  coexistent  arid  simultaneous  facts.  The  physi- 
cal world  without  us  contains  coexistences.  These  we 
wish  to  interpret  as  they  are.  But  we  must  first  give 
these  coexistences,  so  to  speak,  a  dramatic  expression, 
in  terms  of  our  acts,  in  order  that  we  shall  be  able  to 
appreciate  their  very  coexistence.  How  numerous 
and  how  fine  the  acts  of  successive  discrimination  are 
which  we  thus  employ  in  our  observations  of  the 
space  world,  modern  experimental  psychology  renders 
constantly  more  obvious.     Every  picture  that  we  ob- 


254  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

serve  is  explored  by  the  eyes  in  ways  which  deter- 
mine our  whole  judgment  of  the  relations  of  the 
various  parts  of  the  coexistent  picture.  Every  care- 
fully observed  object  about  us  has  its  contour  explored 
by  successive  focussing  of  the  eyes  on  one  part  and 
another  of  its  outline. 

§  I  GO.  Another  important  instance  of  the  bearing  of 
succession  upon  simultaneity  in  the  acquiring  of  new 
powers  to  discriminate,  appears  in  the  whole  process  of 
\diication.  To  learn  about  a  new  subject-matter  that 
involves  complex  relationships  of  any  sort  includes,  in 
(the  first  place,  long  series  of  successive  acts  properly 
)  arranged,  —  acts  of  sensory  observation,  of  recalling 
images,  of  repeating  words,  of  drawing  diagrams,  of 
performing  experiments,  and  so  on  indefinitely.  Then 
we  acquire  gradually  the  power  to  "survey  at  a  glance" 
the  results  slowly  brought  to  consciousness  through 
these  successive  acts.  This  process  of  surveying  at  a 
glance  involves  a  high  degree  of  differentiation  of  our 
simultaneous  conscious  states.  This  differentiation  of 
the  simitltaneoiis  slowly  results  from  the  repeated  acts, 
and  from  the  powers  of  discrimination  which  have  been 
cultivated  in  connection  with  them.  The  more  success- 
ful we  have  been  in  the  successive  acts,  the  more  skil- 
ful we  shall  be  in  the  perception  of  relationships 
between  simultaneous  facts.  The  results  of  our  deeds 
may  thus  be  surveyed  by  us  as  if  from  above,  as  the 
traveller  who  has  reached   a   height  looks  back  with 


DOCILITY  —  DIFFERENTIATION  255 

appreciation  on  the  country  through  which  he  has 
wandered,  while  unless  he  had  wandered  through  it, 
or  through  similar  country,  the  view  from  above  would 
mean  little  to  him.  Narrow  as  our  field  of  conscious- 
ness always  remains,  what  power  we  have  to  survey  the  \ 
siniultafieous  bearings  of  its  facts  is  thus  due  to  our 
power  to  find  in  the  instant^  in  some  sense^  an  epitome 
of  the  history  of  our  own  deeds.  r 

An  important  practical  result  follows  as  to  the  mean-    >vj  j 
ing  of  thQ  prominence  that  the  dramatic  element  has  in  / 
all  instruction.     Narrative  more  readily  appeals   to   us 
than  does  description,  because  the  latter  calls  upon  us 
rather  more  for  the  formation  of  distinct  but  simultane- 
ous groups  of  images,  while  the  latter  plainly  appeals 
to  our  power  to  repeat,  in  the  form  of  images,  succes- 
sive  acts  with  whose  types  we  are  already   familiar. 
Although,  in  case  of  both  narrative  and  description,  as 
they  appeal  to  a  somewhat  mature  consciousness,  both 
simultaneous  and  successive  images  are    presented   to 
consciousness,  still  narrative  has  the  advantage  of  fix-  C 
ing  our  atteiition  more  upon  the  kind  of  discrifnifiationx 
which  we  fifid  easiest y  namely^  the  discrimifiation  of  suc\ 
cessive  facts. 

§  loi.    A  very  notable  further  instance  of  our  ten- 
dency  to    interpret    simultaneously    presented    objects, 
images,  and  relationships,  in  terms  of  successive  acts,  'j\ 
is  furnished  by  our  zvhole  process  of  judgynent,  ajid  in      ' 
C07isequence  by  the  entire  work  of  our  thought.     If  a  rose 


256  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

is  before  me,  and  I  proceed  to  judge  that  this  rose  pos- 
sesses colour,  odour,  and  various  other  properties,  the 
properties  are  simultaneously  present  in  the  rose ;  and 
I  wish  to  make  clear  to  myself  and  to  others  this  simul- 
taneous complex  structure  of  the  rose.  But  I  do  this 
^hrough  a  series  of  acts  of  .successive  attention,  which 
differentiate  to  my  mind  first  one  and  then  another  of 
the  properties  of  the  rose.  Having  this  distinguished 
(the  properties  through  successive  acts  of  attention^  I  a^n 
\ible  to  recognise  thetn  again  as  present  simultaneously  in 
jmy  object.  That  they  coexist  is  something  that  I 
appreciate  and  express  by  successive  deeds.  Only  at 
the  conclusion  of  these  deeds  do  I  again  appreciate,  at 
a  glance,  the  variety  in  unity  of  the  rose.  Our  judg- 
ments thus  always  involve  two  aspects  of  the  conscious 
process,  —  aspects  which  are  often  called  Analysis  and 
Synthesis.  The  analysis,  —  here  the  naming  and 
attentive  dwelling  upon  each  of  the  various  characters 
of  the  rose,  is  accomplished  through  a  succession  of 
deeds,  whereby  I  bring  to  my  mind  names,  and  other 
associates  of  the  various  properties  which  I  distinguish. 
The  so-called  synthesis,  in  so  far  as  it  is  a  simultaneous 
synthesis,  I  accomplish  at  the  instant  when  I  am  able  to 
be  aware  of  these  properties  not  merely  as  successive 
facts,  but  as  coexisting  in  the  rose.  The  synthesis 
results  from  the  analysis.  But  the  judgment  is  not 
complete  until  both  processes  are  accomplished.  The 
mere  analysis  gives  me  a  succession  of  states  of  mind, 


DOCILITY  —  DIFFERENTIATION  257 

which  are  in  so  far  not  perceived  as  aspects  of  the  one 
rose.  To  obtain  this  latter  knowledge  I  must  possess 
the  synthesis.  Yet  the  synthesis  could  not  be  unless  I 
analysed.  All  our  processes  of  judgment  involve  suchS 
reconstructions  in  terms  of  successive  acts,  — reconstruct 
tions  of  that  unity  of  things  which  we  conceive  as  also 
possessing  a  simultaneous  character.  One  may  also 
call  our  judgments  hnitative  Processes^  whereby  we 
reconstruct  our  views  of  objects  by  putting  together  suc- 
cessive ideas  of  our  own.  But  such  ijnitaiions  do  not 
get  their  complete  meaning  for  us  until  we  have  recog- 
nised that  they  express,  in  our  own  terms,  what  we  find 
in  the  object  that  our  imitative  reconstruction  is  analys- 
ing. And  this  is  what  we  have  called  the  recognition 
that,  in  onr  object,  those  characters  are  brongJit  into 
sinmltancons  synthesis,  whicJi  onr  judgment  has  inter- 
preted through  a  succession  of  deeds.  Whenever,  again, 
we  study  the  nature  of  an  object  by  drawing  a  picture 
of  it,  our  successive  processes  make  us  conscious  of  what 
is  simultaneously  present  in  the  object,  in  the  same  way 
in  which  our  processes  of  judgment  accomplish  a  similar 
end. 

§  102.  The  differentiation  of  consciousness  occurs 
then  in  the  main  through  these  dramatic  processes.  It 
is  in  this  very  way  that  the  psychologist  himself  learns 
to  substitute  analysed  states  of  consciousness  for  the 
relatively  unanalysed  states  of  our  naive  consciousness. 
It  is  in  this  way  too  that  all  the  simultaneous  relations 


258  OUrUNES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

of  things  become  clear  to  us.  It  is  in  this  way  that 
comparison  and  scientific  synthesis  and  our  conception 
of  the  whole  of  things  grows  up  in  our  minds.  For  the 
trainer  of  minds  the  general  resulting  advice  is :  Under-' 
take  to  systematise  this  differentiatioji  of  consciousness 
through  fitting  scries  of  successive  deeds.  Remember 
that  witJiout  sucJi  successive  deeds  tJiere  is  no  noteworthy 
intellectual  understanding  of  simtiltaneous  facts.  The 
whole  process  of  education  is  tJierefore  a  dramatic  process^ 
an  interpretatiofi  of  truth  through  conduct,  a  learning  to 
appreciate  the  universe  by  successively  responding  to 
various  parts  of  it,  a  reaching  of  imity  tJirough  variety ^ 
an  attainment  of  synthesis  by  means  of  analysis. 

§  103.  The  process  of  differentiation  is  accompanied 
by  a  series  of  phenomena  of  which  we  already  made 
mention  in  our  opening  account  of  the  unity  of  con- 
sciousness (§  34).  The  consideration  of  this  series  of 
phenomena  brings  to  light  a  most  important  relation 
between  our  current  feelings  and  our  docility.  To 
this  series  of  phenomena  we  give  the  name :  The 
Process    of    Attention. 

As  we  saw  in  our  opening  statement,  our  developed 
consciousness  has  a  foreground  and  a  background,  or, 
again,  has  two  or  three  or  four  mental  states  that  at 
(any  moment  possess  a  certain  **  relief  "  as  they  "float 
jon  the"  stream,"  while  **the  body  of  the  stream  con- 
Isists  of  contents  that  can  no  longer  be  sharply  sun- 
\dered   from   one   another." 


DOCILITY  —  DIFFERENTIATION  259 

It  is  needful  here  to  speak  of  the  process  by  which 
our  momentary  mental  states  get  this  clearness  or  the 
"  relief."  In  so  far  as  we  consciously  profit  by  the 
relation  between  our  present  and  our  former  states,  ^  XimaI 
our  mental  states  are  the  expressions  of  docility.  But  ^/^^.^y 
in  so  far  as  we  are  directly  satisfied  or  dissatisfied  / 
with  our  passing  mental  states  they  are  the  objects  jXJuoJ^ 
of  our  feehngs.  (And  now  as  it  happens,  we  often 
find  present  in  ourselves  feelings  of  satisfaction  and^^ 
dissatisfaction  m  the  very  fact  that  given  prese7it  states 
have  some  sort  of  relation  to  former  states  {e.g.  are 
novel  or  familiar,  are  puzzling  or  comprehensible, 
have  obvious  relation  to  our  past  habits,  or  need  new 
adjustments,  etc.).  But  thus  our  experiences  come  to 
have  a  new  and  important  relation  to  our  feelings.  An 
experience  may  be  said  to  possess  intellectual  value 
in  so  far  as  it  tends  to  mould  our  conscious  habits. 
This  value  it  possesses  over  and  above  the  value  for 
passing  feeling  of  what,  as  a  momentary  mental  state, 
it  contains  (as,  for  example,  pleasure  or  pain).  But 
as  a  fact  we  are  able  to  have  feelings  which  express  an 
immediate^  a  passings  and,  of  course,  often  a  mistakeft, 
estimate  of  this  iiitellectual  value  itself.  Such  feel- 
ings are  called  our  current  "  feelings  of  interest." 
They  have,  in  the  main,  the  character  of  feelings  of 
restlessness  and  of  quiescence,  —  of  restlessness  so 
far  as  we  question,  seek,  or  expect  information,  of 
quiescence    so   far   as   we   get   our    interests    satisfied. 


260  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

They  have,  however,  a  curious  and  invariable  char- 
acter, which  often  brings  them  into  sharp  conflict 
with  our  other  feehngs  of  the  same  moment.  A  pain 
or  an  agonisingly  perplexing  problem,  although  we 
(hate  it  keenly,  may  interest  us  intensely,  because  we 
want  to  dwell  upon  it  until  we  have  tmderstood  its 
cause  or  nature.  When  such  interests  are  those  of 
predominant  satisfaction  they  may  lead  us  to  dwell 
on  the  experience  for  its  own  sake,  as  a  familiar  or 
comprehended  fact.  Thus  a  young  child  may  love  to 
have  its  known  stories  told  over  and  over,  or  to  find 
picture  after  picture  of  familiar  objects  {e.g.  men), 
and  to  say  triumphantly  ''  Man,"  "  Man,"  on  viewing 
each  picture.  Here  the  mere  familiarity  of  the 
experience  is  itself  what  satisfies.  But  even  if  the 
predominant  interest  in  the  experience  is  one  of  dis- 
satisfaction (as  when  one  is  pained  or  puzzled),  still, 
the  only  way  to  satisfy  the  current  intellectual  inter- 
est in  the  pain  or  puzzle  {i.e.  to  reduce  the  dissatis- 
faction) is  again  to  dwell  on  the  experience  until  its 
relation  to  the  past  has  been  altered  {e.g.  until  it  has 
become  familiar  or  has  been  "  made  out ").  So  it  is 
peculiar  to  the  feehngs  of  interest,  or  to  the  "intellec- 
tual feelings,"  that,  whether  they  are  cases  of  satisfac- 
tion or  of  dissatisfaction,  the  only  way  to  hold  the 
Vsatisfaction  or  to  diminish  the  dissatisfaction  is,  in  any 
\  case,  to  dwell  for  the  time  on  the  experience  as  an 
\^erience.     For,   as  we   have   here   defined  our  term, 


DOCILITY  —  DIFFERENTIATION  26 1 

the  interest  is  not  a  feeling  of  satisfaction  or  of  dis- 
satisfaction with  what  the  mental  state  in  itself  alone 
chances  to  contain  {e.g.  with  its  pleasurable  or  painful 
tone  as  such),  but  with  its  relation  to  otJier  states  orj 
to  ones  habits.  Hence  in  states  of  intellectual  inter- 
est, one  questions,  analyses,  compares  —  does  whatever 
tends  to  relate  this  object  to  other  objects.  One  is 
seeking  to  know  ''what  to  do  with  it,"  or  is  rejoicing 
in  the  fact  that  one  does  know  what  to  do  with  it. 

Now,  attention  is  a  process  that  involves  states  ofy, 
mind  and  physical  activities  which  tend  to  satisfy  sncJi) 
an  intellectnal  interest  or,  in  other  words,  attention  is 
the  process  of  furthering  our  current  interest  in  att 
experience  when  viewed  just  as  an  experience.  When 
I  attend  to  a  thing  I  either  try  to  recognise  or  to 
understand  it,  or  I  take  contentment  in  an  already 
existent  recognition  or  understanding  of  it,  and  dwell 
upon  it  accordingly.  Attention  is  called  "active"  in  so 
far  as  the  feeHngs  of  restlessness  which  accompany  our 
trying  to  recognise  or  to  understand,  predominate,  or 
are  at  any  rate  prominent,  amongst  the  feelings  pres- 
ent at  the  moment  of  attention.  But  when  the  other 
phenomena  of  attention  are  present,  while  the  pre- 
dominant feelings  are  those  of  quiescence,  the  atten- 
tion   is   called    "  passive." 

If  our  attention  succeeds  in  any  case  —  i.e.  if  our 
passing  feeling  of  current  interest  is  furthered — the 
object   of    this   interest  grows  clearer  in   our  mifids ; 


262  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

that  is,  it  grows  more  definite  and  gets  a  better 
"relief"  upon  its  background.  This  is  the  one  sure 
result  of  the  furthering  of  the  temporary  and  pass- 
ing intellectual  interest,  as  this  interest  has  here  been 
defined.  What  we  attend  to  may,  as  a  mental  state, 
"^  be  faint  in  content,  but  as  an  experience  it  grows 
cimportant.  It  is  differentiated  better  from  whatever 
goes  along  with  it,  is  more  effective  in  arousing  asso- 
ciations, is  recognised  more  readily,  if  already  some- 
what familiar,  and  tends  to  be  more  effective  in 
modifying  our  already  existent  habits.  Attention  in- 
volves, of  course,  by  definition,  feelings.  But  these 
feelings  from  their  nature  have,  even  as  feelings,  their 
intellectual  value.  And  attention  is  the  conditio  sine 
qua  71071  of    all  important  intellectual  processes. 

The  less  artificial  and  adventitious  are  our  passing 
interests,  the  easier  and  more  effective  is  their  satis- 
faction. Accordingly,  it  is  difficult  to  attend  long  to 
anything  merely  because  we  abstractly  think  that  we 
ought  to  attend.  We  must  have  our  interest  pretty 
spontaneously,  or  we  can  never  hope  to  satisfy  it. 
What  already  attracts  us  in  itself  is  therefore,  in 
general,  the  more  readily  attended  to  in  regard  to  its 
interest  as  an  experience.  The  relatively  familiar  is 
also  more  closely  attended  to  than  the  incomprehen- 
sibly strange,  unless  the  latter,  by  its  painful  or  its 
portentous  aspect,  or  by  its  sensuous  or  other  direct 
charm,  arouses  our  longing  to  comprehend  its  signifi- 


DOCILIT\^  — DIFFERENTIATION  263 

cance.  Children  often  wholly  neglect  whatever  is  not 
yet  comprehensible  to  them  in  their  lessons,  although 
some  uncomprehended  things,  such  as  fairyland,  or 
the  doings  of  their  elders,  may  arouse  their  keen  in- 
terest by  appealing  to  their  love  of  beauty,  or  by 
awakening  their  imitative  instincts.  Interest  in  ob- 
jects because  of  their  familiarity  or  their  comprehen- 
sibility  has  been  called  "derived"  interest,  and  its 
furthering  "  derived  attention " ;  but,  as  a  fact,  all 
current  interests  are,  as  already  shown,  more  or  less 
secondary  feelings.  In  general,  active  attention  to 
any  one  object  is  highly  unsteady  and  fluctuating  in 
its  character.  Sustained  active  attention,  just  because 
of  the  restlessness  involved,  is  possible  only  in  case 
our  objects,  or  our  own  relations  to  them,  are  con- 
stantly undergoing  change. 

The  physiological  accompaniments  of  attention  seem 
to  be  of  three  sorts :  (i)  Adjustments,  of  a  motor  type, 
whereby  our  sense  organs  are  brought  into  better  rela- 
tions with  the  object  of  our  interest,  or  are  brought 
into  positions  that  habit  has  associated  with  clear  at- 
tention, while  our  organisms  are  also  rendered  other- 
wise more  impressible.  Certain  characteristic  attitudes, 
gestures,  and  alterations  of  breathing  and  of  circula- 
tion, belong  to  this  type.  (2)  The  assumption  of  a 
"set"  of  brain  that  tends  especially  to  favour  those 
cerebral  habits  which  are  of  most  use  to  use  in  our 
efforts  to  comprehend  objects  of  the  kind  wherein  we 


;\i 


264  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

are  interested.  The  control  which  the  attention  ap- 
pears to  possess  over  our  trains  of  association  is  due 
to  this  type  of  cerebral  accompaniments  of  the  pro- 
cess. (3)  In  close  connection  with  (2),  the  assumption 
of  a  "  set "  of  brain  which  tends  to  inhibit  all  move- 
ments and  habits  such  as  would  interfere  with  the 
satisfaction  of  the  ruling  interest.  Hence  the  still- 
'  rO*  ness,  the  "  absorption  "  of  the  attentive  person.  Ac- 
^  tive  attention   is  always  a  highly  inhibitory  function. 

^  ^  Herein  lies  another  reason  for  its  fluctuating  character 
^»^^  in  children,  and  in  many  of  our  states  of  weakness. 
^"^v^  §  104.  The  presence  of  discrimination  in  our  trained 
consciousness  is  subject,  even  on  the  highest  levels, 
to  decidedly  obvious  limitations.  If  we  are  carrying 
a  heavy  weight,  and  some  one  adds  to  that  weight  a 
very  small  additional  burden,  we  do  not  feel  the  dif- 
ference. If  the  sun  is  shining  through  the  window 
and  somebody  lights  a  gas-jet,  we  notice  very  little,  if 
at  all,  the  difference.  In  brief,  decidedly  slight  differ- 
ences in  the  intensity  of  our  sensory  experiences  es- 
cape us.  This  is  a  matter  of  common  knowledge. 
But  the  very  mention  of  these  facts  calls  also  atten- 
tion to  another  and  closely  associated  consideration,  — 
one  which  has  acquired  great  notoriety  through  the  close 
examination  which  modern  experimental  psychology 
has  given  to  the  whole  subject.  If  we  estimate  the 
character  of  our  mental  experiences  merely  in  terms 
of   the  characters  which  we  know  to   belong   to   their 


DOCILITY  —  DIFFERENTIATION  265 

stimuli,  we  are  disposed  at  first  to  expect  that,  if  we 
are  observing  a  bright  Hght,  and  if  some  one  adds  a 
new  light  (namely  that  of  the  gas-jet)  to  the  light  al- 
ready present,  we  shall  observe  the  difference,  if  the 
additional  stimulus  is  great  enough.  But  from  this 
point  of  view  we  should  expect  that  the  lighting  of 
the  additional  gas-jet  would  make  the  same  difference 
to  our  internal  experience,  whatever  might  be  the 
brightness  of  the  light  before  the  new  gas-jet  was 
added.  Or  to  take  another  illustration,  if  I  have  an 
experience  corresponding  to  the  attempt  to  lift  an  ob- 
ject that  weighs  a  pound,  and  if  this  experience  nor- 
mally corresponds  to  that  object,  then  I  should  be 
disposed  to  expect  that  in  case  I  were  carrying  ten 
pounds  and  some  one  added  a  pound  to  my  burden, 
the  addition  would  make  the  same  difference  to  me 
as  it  would  make  if  I  were  carrying  a  hundred  pounds, 
and  the  pound  were  then  added  to  my  burden.  But 
a  moment's  reflection  shows  us  that  we  are  unable  thus 
to  make  our  mental  experiences  precisely  correspond, 
in  all  respects,  to  what  we  know  about  the  objects 
which  are  the  stimuli  of  these  experiences.  For  the 
addition  of  the  pound  will  be  noticed  if  it  be  added  to 
the  burden  of  ten  pounds.  It  may  altogether  escape 
attention  if  it  is  added  to  the  very  much  heavier  bur- 
den. The  lighting  of  the  gas-jet  will  make  a  very 
great  difference  if  the  gas-jet  is  lighted  when  the  room 
is  nearly  dark.     But  the  lighting  of  this  same  gas-jet 


266  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

will  make  very  little  difference  to  our  experience  if 
the  room  is  already  bright,  that  is  if  the  sun  is  shining. 
A  stimulus  may  thus  be  such  that,  if  it  acted  alone, 
the  corresponding  experience  would  be  very  important 
or  very  intense.  Yet  if  this  stimulus  be  added  to  an- 
other which  is  of  considerable  magnitude,  and  which 
has  already  produced  an  experience  of  great  intensity, 
the  additional  stimulus  may  go  wholly  unnoticed.  That 
the  principle  here  concerned  has  some  very  deep  re- 
lations to  our  experience  becomes  fairly  evident,  even 
apart  from  experiment,  if  we  consider  certain  other 
very  familiar  facts.  When  we  are  reading  print  on  a 
page  before  us,  we  are  constantly  guided  in  our  reading 
by  the  fact  that  we  discriminate  between  the  brightness 
of  the  white  page  and  the  lesser  brightness  of  the  por- 
tion of  the  page  where  the  printer's  ink  lies.  Our 
power  clearly  to  see  the  letters  depends  upon  this 
difference  of  brightness.  But  if  the  light  fades,  it 
may  fade  very  considerably  before  we  notice  that  the 
letters  have  begun  to  grow  dim.  Yet  when  the  light 
is  faint  the  actual  difference  in  brightness  between  the 
white  page  and  the  black  letters  will  be  very  much 
less  than  the  difference  between  the  two  when  they 
are  seen  in  a  bright  light.  Not  only  does  this  hold 
true  of  objects  such  as  letters  printed  on  a  page.  It 
holds  true,  within  limits,  of  the  finer  markings  in  an 
etching  or  a  drawing.  The  light  may  diminish  consid- 
erably and  yet  we  may  see  as  much  and  as  fine  de- 


DOCILITY—  DIFFERENTIATIOxN  26/ 

tail  in  the  drawing  as  we  saw  in  the  brighter  light. 
Thus  even  ordinary  experience  forces  upon  us  the 
fact  that  07ir  judgments  of  differences  are  iii  some  meas- 
ure  relative.  One  of  the  earliest  fields  of  research  in 
modern  experimental  psychology  was  the  one  opened  up, 
in  the  effort  to  understand  such  facts,  by  Weber,  and  by 
the  distinguished  psychologist  and  philosopher  Fech- 
ner.  Experimental  research  soon  showed  that  our  dis- 
crimination of  small  differences,  in  the  case  of  weights 
and  in  case  of  a  considerable  number  of  other  types 
of  experience,  conforms  to  a  rule  which  these  common- 
sense  observations  already  suggested.  The  rule  was 
stated  in  one  form  by  Weber  and  in  another  by  Fech- 
ner,  and  appears  in  modern  text-books  as  the  so-called 
"psycho-physic  law."  This  law  has  been  subjected  in 
later  years  to  an  elaborate  variety  of  experimental 
tests.  In  a  very  considerable  region  of  our  sensory 
experiences  it  has  been  found  to  remain  approximately 
valid.  In  certain  regions  of  our  sensory  experience 
it  cannot  be  verified.  In  case  of  decidedly  faint  or  of 
decidedly  intense  sensory  experiences  of  any  sense  it 
appears  nolf  to  hold.  Where  it  is  approximately  valid 
it  is  so  for  sensory  experiences  of  medium  intensity. 

The  law  is  that  in  order  that  differences  of  sefiso?y 
experience  should  have,  in  two  different  cases  of  com- 
parison, the  same  value  for  our  reacting  co7iscious7iess^ 
or  should  appear  to  be  equal  differences,  the  sti7ntili 
that  are  compared  in  the  two  different  cases  must  differ 


268  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

from  one  anotJier,  not  by  the  same  absolute  pJiysical 
difference  in  their  viagnitude^  but  by  the  same  relative^ 
difference.  Thus,  if  we  suppose  that,  in  a  given  region 
of  sensation,  a  stimulus  having  a  physical  magnitude  21 
appear  to  have  a  just  perceivable  difference  from  a 
stimulus  possessing  the  magnitude  20,  then,  in  order 
that  a  stimulus  of  the  same  type,  and  appealing  to 
the  same  sense,  but  having  the  magnitude  42,  should 
appear  just  appreciably  greater  than  another  stimulus, 
this  other  stimulus  would  have  to  have  the  magni- 
tude 40.  While  if,  again,  a  stimulus  having  a  magni- 
tude 84  was  to  appear  just  less  than  another  stimulus, 
this  other  stimulus  would  have  to  have  a  magni- 
tude 80;  and  so  on.  Or  if,  in  case  of  the  same 
series  of  sensations,  stimuli  of  the  magnitudes  10 
and  20  appear  to  consciousness  as  possessing  a  cer- 
tain difference,  then  two  stimuli,  possessing,  other 
things  being  equal,  the  magnitudes  20  and  40,  would 
produce  in  consciousness  sensory  experiences  having 
appreciably  as  much  difference,  or  the  same  differ- 
ence, as  the  foregoing  pair  of  stimuli.  Thus  one 
pair  of  stimnli  have  the  same  diffej^ence  far  conscious- 
ness as  another  pair  of  stimuli,  in  case  the  members 
of  the  two  pairs  have  tJie  same  proportionate  magni- 
tude when  compared  together. 

§  105.  With  the  range  of  validity  of  this  law,  and 
with  its  apparent  exceptions,  we  have  here  no  space 
to  deal.     That  it  stands  for  a  very  important  relation 


DOCILITY  — DIFFERENTIATION  269 

between  our  conscious  discriminations  of  stimuli  and 
the  physical  facts  seems  unquestionable.  What  it  is 
important  for  us  to  note  however  in  this  connection 
is  that  the  psycho-physic  law,  whatever  else  it  is, 
is  a  law  relating  to  oicr  Mental  Docility,  i.e.,  to  our 
power  to  acqicire  skill  iji  discriminating  between  the 
facts  of  onr  sensory  experience.  The  psycho-physic 
law  is  treated  in  some  discussions  as  a  law  directly 
relating  to  our  sensations.  It  is  often  said,  that 
like  differences  in  intensity  of  sensation  correspond 
to  like  proportional  differences  in  the  stimulations. 
But  as  a  fact  the  experiments  upon  which  the  psycho- 
physic  law  is  based  are  not  and  cannot  be  experi- 
ments upon  the  pure  sensory  experiences  as  they 
exist  in  themselves,  still  less  upon  the  absolutely  pure 
and  isolated  sensations.  For  the  first,  we  never  have 
any  purely  sensory  experiences  which  are  not  woven 
into  complexes  that  have  value  for  our  whole  present 
unity  of  consciousness.  For  the  rest,  to  compare  tivo 
sensory  experiences,  and  to  judge  them  as  diff^erent,  is 
to  perform  a  specific  reaction  in  the  prese?tce  of  this 
pair  of  experiences,  that  is,  it  is  to  pronounce  the 
judgment  "  Different,"  or  it  is  to  make  some  other  re- 
action which  shows  that  the  difference  has  value  for 
consciousness.  The  differe?ice  is  perceived  when  the 
reaction  is  accomplished.  It  is  not  perceived  Jinless 
some  such  reaction  is  p7'cse7it,  at  least  as  a  tendency. 
Now   most   experiments   upon   the    psycho-physic    law 


270  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

are  carried  on  under  conditions  of  concentrated  atten- 
tion, the  attention  being  directed  to  the  comparison 
of  the  stimuli  in  question.  In  so  far  as  the  common- 
sense  experiences  before  mentioned  throw  Ught  upon 
the  tendency  which  the  law  represents,  or  in  so  far 
as  the  laboratory  experiments  are  made  to  approxi- 
mate to  the  conditions  of  the  nafve  consciousness,  it 
still  holds  true  that  the  perception  of  the  difference 
between  two  experiences  takes  the  form  of  some  specific 
reaction  to  this  difference. 

Now  in  the  present  chapter  we  have  been  setting 
forth  the  conditions  under  which  sensory  discrimina- 
tions are  learned.  We  have  seen  that  these  condi- 
tions favour  the  sensory  discrimination  of  successive 
differences,  although  we  can  acquire  the  power  to 
discriminate  simultaneous  differences.  We  have  also 
seen  that  the  power  to  discriminate  successive  differ- 
ences, for  example,  the  power  to  observe  the  differ- 
ence between  two  weights  by  lifting  first  one  and 
then  immediately  the  other,  or  the  power  to  distin- 
guish between  two  tones  by  hearing  first  one  and 
then  the  other,  is  a  power  that  can  indeed  be  culti- 
vated by  attention,  and  by  training  various  kinds  of 
reaction  in  the  presence  of  the  objects.  The  psycho- 
physic  law  appears  now  to  formulate  a  certain  limit 
to  which  the  Docility  of  the  organism  in  responding 
to  finer  diffei'ences  ift  stimulation  is  subject. 

It  has  often  been  disputed  whether  the  psycho-physic 


DOCILITY  —  DIFFERENTIATION  2/1 

law  is  a  physiological  one,  having  to  do  with  what  hap- 
pens in  the  organs  of  sensation  before  the  centres  are 
reached,  or  whether  it  is  a  psychological  law,  having  to 
do  with  the  way  in  which  our  conscious  process  repre- 
sents what  goes  on  in  the  world.  From  our  present 
point  of  view  the  psycho-physic  law  may  well  be  both 
physiological  and  psychical.  It  certainly  has  a  physical 
or  physiological  aspect.  If  I  am  affected  by  two 
stimuli  A  and  B,  in  proper  relations  of  succession,  /  am 
able  to  discruninate  between  t/iem  m  case  I  am  able  to 
perform  so7rte  act  of  which  I  am  conscious^  a7i  act  due 
to  the  difference  between  them,  or  an  act  such  that  I  re- 
sp07id  to  A  in  a  ivay  different  from  the  way  in  which  I 
respond  to  B.  If  I  camiot  perform  the  act,  I  cannot  m,ake 
the  conscious  discrinmtation.  The  limitation  of  my  con- 
scious discrimination  must  run  parallel  to  the  limitation 
of  my  power  to  act. 

Now  what  the  phenomena  summed  up  under  the 
psycho-physic  law  indicate  is,  that  if  you  ask  a  man 
to  react  in  the  form  of  a  judgment  of  difference,  or  in 
any  other  exactly  definable  form,  which  is  subject  to 
test,  and  if  you  ask  him  to  perform  this  act  in  the 
presence  of  stimulations,  then  if  the  stimulations  A 
and  B  are  sufficient  to  produce  an  act  indicating  dis- 
crimination, stimulations  having  physical  magnitudes 
other  than  those  of  A  and  B,  must  have  the  same 
proportional  difference  in  order  to  produce  the  same 
result.     What   the   facts   teach    is  therefore  that   both 


272  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

the  organism  and  the  conscious  process  tend  to  adjust 
themselves  to  relative  and  not  to  absolute  dijfere7ices  of 
stimuli.  The  tendency  is  so  strong  that  no  degree 
of  closeness  of  attention  and  no  degree  of  docility  at 
our  disposal  enables  us  to  overcome  it.  The  law  there- 
fore stands  for  a  limitation  of  our  docility.  It  also 
stands  for  an  obviously  convenient  relation  between 
the  organism  and  the  external  world.  As  many  physical 
stimuli  are  subject,  in  case  of  variations  in  light  or 
in  other  physical  conditions  of  our  surroundings, 
to  proportional  variations  in  physical  intensity,  while 
these  variations  do  not  affect  the  relative  importance 
of  the  objects  that  produce  these  stimuli  when  con- 
sidered in  their  bearing  upon  the  organism,  it  is  of 
course  important  that  the  kind  of  reaction  which  the 
organism  makes  should  not  be  affected  by  these  unes- 
sential variations  in  our  environment.  In  other  cases 
a  similar  teleological  relation  of  the  facts  to  our  behav- 
iour in  their  presence  can  readily  be  traced.  It  is  im- 
portant, however,  to  remember  that  the  psycho-physic 
law  is  7iot  a  law  directly  relating  to  our  sensations^  but 
is  rather  a  law  of  our  reactions.  It  is  substantially  the 
law  that  we  make^  within  limits,  the  same  reaction  to  the 
same  relative  variatio7i  in  the  magnittide  of  stimuli. 
The  relation  of  the  law  to  consciousness  is  simply  due 
to  the  fact  that  we  are  conscious  of  a  response  that  we 
actually  tend  to  make,  and  of  differences  among  facts, 
only  in  so  far  as  we  respond  to  these  differences.     If  it 


DOCILITY  — DIFFERENTIATION  273 

be  remembered  that  the  conscious  process  accompanies 
not  merely  our  external  sensory  experiences,  but  our 
total  organic  reactions  to  these  experiences,  the  mystery 
which  has  sometimes  been  made  about  the  pyscho- 
physic  law  appears  less  significant. 


ij 


CHAPTER   XII 

Docility 

d.   the  social  aspect  of  the  higher  forms  of 

docility  ^ 

§  1 06.  Man's  response  to  his  environment  is  not 
merely  a  reaction  to  things,  but  is,  and  in  fact  pre- 
dominantly, isX q_  reaction  to  personsj  There  is  no 
opportunity,  in  the  present  connection,  to  trace  with 
any  detail  the  rise  and  growth  of  our  consciousness 
of  the  human  personalities  with  whom  we  are  accus- 
tomed to  deal.  The  laws  of  habit  and  of  association 
are  unquestionably  of  importance  as  throwing  light 
upon  the  way  in  which  we  come  to  regard  certain 
objects  in  our  environment  not  merely  as  physical 
things  possessing  size,  movement,  etc.,  but  as  objects 
endowed  with  an  experience  like  our  own,  and  pos- 
sessing a  consciousness  that,  inaccessible  as  it  may 
be  to  us,  is  still,  in  so  far  as  we  get  its  expressions, 
essentially  intelligible  and  profoundly  interesting  to 
us.  It  is  necessary  in  the  present  connection,  without 
undertaking  in  the  least   the  task  of   a  specific  social 

1  Cf.  on  the  present  topic  the  author's  papers  on  "  Self-consciousness, 
Social  Consciousness  and  Nature "  and  on  the  "  Anomalies  of  Self-con- 
sciousness" in  Studies  of  Good  and  Evil  (New  York,  1898). 

274 


HIGHER   FORMS   OF   DOCILITY  275 

psychology,  to  give  some  indication  of  the  way  in 
which  all  our  JiigJicr  intellectual  and  voluntary  habits 
are  affected  by  this  our  conscious  interpretation  of  the 
inner  life  of  our  fellows. 

§  107.  The  foundation  for  our  whole  social  con- 
sciousness seems  to  lie  in  certain  instincts  which  char- 
acterise us  as  social  beings,  and  which  begin  to 
assume  considerable  prominence  toward  the  end  of 
the  first  year  of  an  infant's  life.  These  instincts 
express  themselves  first  in  reactions  of  general  inter- 
est in  the  faces,  in  the  presence,  and  in  the  doings, 
of  our  social  fellow  beings.  \  Among  these  reactions 
some  show  great  pleasure  and  fascination.  Some, 
the  reactions  of  bashfulness,  show  fear.  This  fear  is  an 
instinctive  character,  and  in  some  cases  may  display 
itself  in  reactions  of  violent  terror  in  the  presence  of 
strangers.  But  on  the  whole,  more  prominent,  in  the 
life  of  a  normally  tended  infant,  is  pleasurable  reac- 
tion at  the  sight  of  people.  It  is  unquestionable  that, 
from  the  very  first,  these  instincts  are  subject  to  the 
regular  processes  that  everywhere  determine  our  do- 
cility. Our  social  environment  is  a  constant  source 
of  numerous  sensory  pleasures,  and  by  association 
becomes  interesting  to  us  accordingly.  But,  in  addi- 
tion to  the  pleasures  of  sense  which  are  due  to  our 
human  companions,  there  are,  no  doubt,  from  the  first, 
deep  instinctive  and  hereditary  sources  of  interest  in 
the  activities  of   human  beings.     On  the  basis  of   the 


276  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

general  social  interests,  there  appear  more  special 
^^*^instincts,  amongst  which  the  most  prominent  is  the 
yj^^y*  complex  of  instincts  suggested  by  the  name  Imita-_ 
TiON.^  It  is  by  imitation  that  the  child  learns  its 
age.  It  is  by  imitation  that  it  acquires  all  the 
social  tendencies  that  make  it  a  tolerable  member  of 
society.  Its  imitativeness  is  the  source  of  an  eager 
and  restless  activity  which  the  child  pursues  for  years 
under  circumstances  of  great  difficulty,  and  even  when 
the  processes  involved  seem  to  be  more  painful  than 
pleasurable.  Imitativeness  remains  with  us  through 
life.  It  attracts  less  of  our  conscious  attention  in  our 
adult  years,  but  is  present  in  ways  that  the  psycholo- 
gist is  able  to  observe  even  in  case  of  people  who 
suppose  themselves  not  to  be  imitative. 

This  human  imitativeness  assumes  very  notable 
forms  in  excited  crowds  of  people,  in  what  the  recent 
psychologists  have  called  in  general  "  the  mob."  A 
mob,  in  the  technical  sense,  is  any  company  of  per- 
sons whose  present  set  of  brain  involves  the  abandon- 
ment of  such  habits  as  have  most  determined  their 
customary  individual  choices,  and  the  assumption,  for 
the  moment,  merely  of  certain  generahsed  modes  of 
reaction  which  are  of  an  emotional,  a  socially  plastic, 
and  a  decidedly  imitative  type.  Under  the  influence 
of   such    social   conditions,   the   members   of   the   mob 

^  Cf.  Professor  Baldwin's  Mental  Development  in  the  Child  and  in  the 
Race,  especially  the  second  volume  of  that  work. 


HIGHER   FORMS  OF  DOCILITY  2// 

may  perform  acts  of  the  type  before  referred  to,  acts 
which  seem  to  the  casual  observer  quite  out  of  char- 
acter in  view  of  the  training  and  of  the  ordinary 
opinions  of  the  people  concerned.  Outside  of  the 
mob,  the  imitative  reactions  appear  in  all  the  phe- 
nomena of  fashion  and  of  transitory  custom,  such  as 
any  popular  craze  of  the  day,  or  the  success  of  any 
favourite  song,  opera,  or  novel,  may  daily  illustrate. 
The  most  of  people's  political  opinions,  the  most  of 
their  religious  creeds,  the  most  of  their  social  judg- 
ments, are  very  highly  imitative  in  their  origin. 

§  1 08.  Side  by  side  with  the  social  processes  of  the 
imitative  type  appear  another  group  of  reactions  prac- 
tically inseparable  from  the  former,  but  in  character 
decidedly  contrasted  with  them.  These  are  the  phe- 
nomena of  SocialOpposition;  and  of  the  love  for  co?t- 
trastmg  ones  self  with  one^s  fellows  hi  behaviour,  in 
opiniojt^  or  in  power.  These  phenomena  of  social  con- 
trast and  opposition  have  an  unquestionably  instinctive 
basis.  They  appear  very  early  in  childhood.  They 
last  in  most  people  throughout  life.  They  may  take 
extremely  hostile  and  formidable  shapes.  In  their  nor- 
mal expression  they  constitute  one  of  the  most  valuable 
features  of  any  healthy  social  activity.  This  fact  may 
be  illustrated  by  any  lively  conversation  or  discussion. 

As  a  rule,  the  acts  that  express  this  fondness  for 
social  contrast,  and  for  opposing  one's  self  to  the  social 
environment  are,  in  their  origin,  secondary  to  the  imita- 


fZ^ 


#^  \^wv 


278  OlTTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

tive  acts.     It  is  true  that  the  instinctive  basis  for  them 
appears  quite  as  early  as  do  the  manifestations  of  the 
imitative  instincts.     And  since  this  fondness  for  opposi- 
tion is  in  part  based  upon  the  elemental  emotions  of  the       -.  ,^ 
tyjxe  expressed  in  anger,  obstinacy,  and   unwillingness 
to  be  interfered  with,  the  instinctive  basis  for  the  type 
of  action  here  in  question  may  be  said  to  be  manifest,    -r^ 
even  earlier  in  infancy  than  is  the  case  with  the  imita-  "^   ' 
tive  reactions.  ,<;;,But  while  the  instinctive  basis  of  oppo- 
sition is  ,primitivej.  the  social  acts  that  can  express  such 
instincts  must  be  acquired^',    And  in  order  to  contrast 
one's  self  with  one's  social  environment  it  is  necessary, 
in  general,  first  to  learn  how  to  do  something  that  has 
social  significance.     I  cannot  oppose  you  by  my  speech 
unless  I  already  know  how  to  talk.     I  cannot  rival  you 
as  a  musician  unless    I    already  understand  music.     I 
cannot  endeavour  to  get  the  better  of  a  political  rival 
unless  I  already  understand  politics.     But  speech  and 
music   and  politics   have   to   be   learned   by  imitation.    ^ ..  •, 
Hence  the  social  reactions  which  express  the  fondness      ^' " 
for  contrast  and  opposition  must  on  the  whole  follow  in 
their  development  the  social  reactions  dependent  upon    ^yl/ 
imitation.     This   accounts   for   that   close   weaving   to-  l^K^^> 
gether  of  the  two  types  of  functions,  of  which  we  have 
already  spoken.     The  playful  child  already  seizes  what- 
ever little  arts  he  has  acquired  by  imitation  to  express 
his  wilfulness,  or  to  develop  his  own  devices,  or  to  dis- 
play himself  to  his  environment.     And,  on   the   other 


HIGHER   FORMS  OF   DOCILITY  279 

hand,  a  form  of  wilfulness,  or  of  obstinacy,  in  an  already 
highly  intelligent  being,  may  lead  to  a  deliberately 
painstaking  process  of  imitation,  such  as  happens  when- 
ever an  ambitious  artist  devotes  himself  long  to  training 
in  order  that  thereby  he  may  get  the  better  of  his  rivals. 
In  brief,  the  preservation  of  a  happy  balance  between 
the  imitative  functions  and  those  that  emphasise  social 
contrasts  and  oppositions  forms  the  basis  for  every 
higher  type  of  mental  activity.  And  the  entire  process 
of  coftscioiis  education  involves  the  deliberate  appeal  to 
the  docility  of  these  tzvo  types  of  social  mstnxi^s.  For 
whatever  else  we  teach  to  a  social  being  we  teach  him 
to  imitate.  And  whatever  use  we  teach  him  to  make  of 
his  social  imitations  in  his  relations  with  other  men,  we 
are  obliged  at  the  same  time  to  teach  him  to  assert  him- 
self, in  some  sort  of  way,  in  contrast  with  his  fellows, 
and  by  virtue  of  the  arts  which  he  possesses. 

The  full  consideration  of  the  social  value  of  imitative- 
ness  and  of  the  love  of  social  contrast  and  opposition, 
would  carry  us  wholly  beyond  our  present  limits.  What 
we  are  concerned  to  notice,  in  this  elementary  study  of 
psychology,  is  that  the  nature  of  these  fimctions  pro- 
foundly affects  the  structure  and  the  development  of  the 
processes  known  as  thought  a7td  reasoning.  We  are 
also  concerned  merely  to  mention  a  fact  into  whose 
adequate  consideration  we  cannot  hope  to  enter,  the 
fact,  namely,  that  all  the  functions  which  constitute  self^y 
consciousness   show   themselves  outwardly  ijt   social  re-  S 


280  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

actions^  that  is,  in  dealings  with  other  real  or  ideal 
persona£eSjjuid  are^  in  onr  own  minds ^  profoundly  related 
to  and  inseparable  fro7n  our  social  cofisciousness. 

§  109.  To  specify  more  exactly  the  matters  to  which 
reference  has  thus  been  made  :  what  is  called  thought 
consists  (as  has  already  been  pointed  out)  of  a  series 
of  7nental  processes  that  unquestionably  terid  to  express 
the^nselves  in  characteristic  motor  reactions.  Many  of 
these  reactions  notoriously  take  the  form  of  using,  of 
applying,  and  of  combining  words.  Now  the  reasons 
why  our  thinking  process  should  so  largely  depend 
upon  using  words  have  often  been  discussed  by  psy- 
chologists, but  at  first  sight  they  may  appear  to  the  ele- 
mentary student  of  psychology  somewhat  puzzling.  The 
general  solution  of  the  problem  lies  in  the  fact  that 
words  are  the  expressions  of  certain  reactions  that  we 
have  acquired  when  we  were  in  social  relations  to  our 
fellows.  If  we  once  understand  how  these  social  rela- 
tions determine  that  character  of  our  consciousness 
which  essentially  belongs  to  all  thinking,  we  become 
able  to  see  why  verbal  associations  and  habits  should 
be  so  prominent  in  connection  with  all  the  thinking 
processes.  ^  We  shall  also  be  able  to  see  what  is  fre- 
quently neglected  by  psychologists,  namely,  the  pa^^- 
.  bility  \!^2X  processes  of  thought  should  on  occasion  appear 
\  dissociated  from,  verbal  expression,  although  never  disso- 
ciated from  tendencies  to  action  which  have  a  jQ^ial^ 
^origin  essentially  similar  to  that  of  language. 


HIGHER   FORMS  OF  DOCILITY  28 1 

Our  words  are  first  learned  as  part  of  our  social  inter- 
course with  our  fellows.  As  recent  students  of  the 
psychology  of  the  language  of  childhood  have  pointed 
out,  words  cannot  be  said  at  the  outset  to  express  to 
a  child  any  exact  abstract  ideas.  They  are  at  first, 
as  Wundt  and  his  school  have  well  insisted,  rather 
the  expressions  of  feelings  than  the  embodiments  of 
thought.^  The  whole  vocal  life  of  infancy  is  primarily 
an  expression  of  feeling.  In  social  relationships  it 
later  becomes  to  a  child  associated  with  his  socially 
fascinating  feelings,  with  the  sense  of  companionship, 
with  his  joy  in  the  power  to  make  sounds  which  others 
admire,  and  to  imitate  sounds  which  he  hears  others 
make.  But  now,  in  time,  these  expressions  of  the 
child's  feehngs  become  associated  not  only  with  social 
situations  and  delights,  but  with  objects  and  deeds 
observed.  The  social  utility  of  taking  advantage  of 
these  associations,  is  emphasised,  in  the  child's  training, 
by  the  behaviour,  and  by  the  deliberate  efforts  at  in- 
struction in  language,  which  he  meets  with  in  his  elders. 
At  length  a  stage  comes  when  language  is  the  ex- 
pression of  the  child's  wish,  at  once  to  characterise 
objects  present  in  his  experience,  and  to  appeal  intel- 
Hgibly  to  the  minds  of  his  fellows.  Now  these  two 
aspects  of  the  language  processes  are  never  to  be 
separated  from  one  another,  either  in  the  life  of  child- 
hood or  in  our  much   later  rational  development.     A 

^  See  Wundt's  Volkerpsychologie,  Vol.  I,  "  Die  Sprache." 


// 


282  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

word,  a  phrase,  a  discourse,  is  always  at  once  a  response 
to  certain  facts  in  the  outer  or  inner  world  which  we 
attempt  to  characterise,  and  an  appeal  to  the  conscious- 
ness of  our  fellow.  It  is  the  latter  aspect  which  gives 
language  its  primary  practical  importance.  Language 
is  not  a  direct  adjustment  to  the  facts  apart  from  the 
purpose  of  communication.  It  is  the  purpose  of  com- 
munication that  alone  makes  language  essentially  sig- 
nificant as  a  part  of  our  mental  equipment.  But  in 
view  of  this  fact  it  is  obvious  that  language  acquires  its 
value  as  a  means  of  characterising  facts  through  pro- 
cesses which  appear^  in  the  mi7id  of  one  who  learns  lan- 
guage, in  the  form  of  a  lo?zg-continued,  a  laborious^  and 
generally  a  fascinating  process  of  co^nparing  his  own 
way  of  using  words  with  the  ways  employed  by  other 
people.  From  the  time  when  a  child  plays  at  imi- 
tating his  nurse's  words,  or  at  hearing  his  own  babble 
imitated,  to  the  time  when,  perhaps,  as  a  lawyer,  he 
adjusts  his  arguments  to  the  requirements  of  judges 
and  juries,  and  to  the  criticisms  of  an  opponent,  he 
constantly  adjusts  his  reactions,  as  he  speaks,  to  the 
reactions  of  other  people,  by  comparing  his  own  way  of 
behaviour  with  the  behaviour  of  others.  Such  compari- 
son involves  inevitably  both  of  the  two  great  social 
motives  before  emphasised.  That  is,  it  involves  both 
the  motives  of  imitation,  pure  and  simple,  and  that  love 
of  social  contrast  which  has  before  been  emphasised. 
But   now  what   is  the  inevitable  result  of   all  such 


HIGHER    FORMS   OF  DOCILITY  283 

activities  ?  It  is  that  the  one  who  makes  such  social 
comparison  becomes  very  highly  conscious  of  the  details 
of  Jus  oivn  actSy  and  of  the  criticisms  that  other  peo- 
ple are  making  upon  these  acts,  and  of  the  feelings 
which  these  acts  arouse  both  in  himself  and  in  others. 
But  now  it  is  at  the  same  time  the  case  that  the  acts 
of  which  one  becomes  conscious  are  also  acts  which 
one  is  also  seeking  to  adjust  to  objects  as  well  as  to 
social  judgments.  The  result  of  this  twofold  adjustment 
is  precisely  the  kind  of  consciousness  which  coiistitictes 
thinking.  For  thinking  differs  from  na'fve  action  chiefly 
in  this :  When  we  act  in  naive  fashion,  we  are  espe- 
cially conscious  of  the  objects  to  which  we  adjust  our- 
selves, and  of  the  feelings  of  success  or  of  failure,  that 
is,  of  satisfaction  or  of  restlessness,  of  pleasure  or  of 
pain,  that  accompany  these  acts.  Of  the  details  of  our 
acts  we  are  not  in  such  cases  conscious,  although  our 
consciousness  of  our  objects  is  unquestionably  depend- 
ent upon  the  performance  of  our  acts.  Thus,  one  who 
seeks  food  is  very  imperfectly  aware  of  how  he  moves 
his  legs  or  his  arms  in  walking  or  in  grasping ;  but  he 
is  aware  of  his  images  of  the  food,  and  of  his  relatively 
satisfactory  or  unsatisfactory  efforts  to  obtain  it.  The 
reason  why  the  details  of  our  acts  do  not  come  in  such 
cases  clearly  to  consciousness  is  dependent  upon  the 
fact  that  our  sensory  experiences  of  the  objects  in  ques- 
tion are  prominent,  while  our  sensory  experiences  of 
our  acts,  just  in  so  far  as  the  acts  have  become  habit- 


284  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

ual,  tend  to  be  too  swift  for  consciousness  to  follow ; 
while  only  our  feelings  remain,  amongst  our  internal 
experiences,  as  the  prominent  accompaniments  of  the 
act.  But,  on  the  other  hand,  one  who  tJiinks  viakes  it 
part  of  J  lis  ideal  to  be  conscious  of  how  he  behaves  in  the 
presence  of  tilings.  And  this  he  does  because  the  social 
comparison  of  his  acts  with  the  acts  of  other  people 
not  only  controls  the  formation  of  his  acts,  but  has 
made  his  observation  of  his  own  acts  an  ideal.  For  so 
far  as  he  is  imitating  others,  he  is  fascinated  by  the 
adjustment  of  his  behaviour  to  the  behaviour  of  others. 
So  far  as  he  is  dwelling  upon  social  conflicts  and  con- 
trasts he  is  displaying  his  own  acts  to  the  other  people ; 
and  so  he  is  conscious  that  they  are  observing  him,  and 
is  desirous  that  they  should  do  so.  ^hi  conseqiiejice,  the 
<-  social  conditions^  nnder  which  language  is  acquired pro- 
\  dj^ce^  the  tJiinkijig  process,  just  because  it  is  of  the 
[essence  of  the  tJiinking  process  that  we  should  become 
\  aware  of  how  our  acts  are  adjusted  to  our  objects. 
The  acts  in  which  we  express  our  thinking  are  not, 
however,  exclusively  confined  to  the  process  of  using 
words  or  of  combining  them.  The  drawing  of  a  scien- 
tific diagram,  the  construction  of  a  work  of  art,  the 
performance  of  an  experiment,  the  adjustment  of  the 
playing  of  one's  musical  instrument  to  the  criticisms 
of  one's  musical  rival,  or  to  the  guidance  of  the  con- 
ductor of  an  orchestra  —  all  these  are  activities  which 
involve  thinking  processes.     They  do  so  because  they 


HIGHER  FORMS   OF  DOCILITY  285 

are  social  adjustments  of  the  type  now  in  question, 
that  is,  social  adjustments,  invohmg  imitations  and 
social  contrasts y  and  including  the  conscioiiS7iess  of  how 
one  performs  the  act,  and  so  of  how  it  is  adjusted  to  the 
ideal.  * 

§1X0.  Such,  then,  is  the  general  character  of  thought, 
namely,  that  it  is  onr  co7isciottsness  of  aji  act  or  of  a 
series  of  acts  adjusted  to  a7i  object,  in  siicJi  wise  as  fit- 
tingly to  7'cpresent  that  object,  or  to  portray  it,  or  to 
characterise  it,  aiid  i7i  such  wise  that  the  one  who  tJii7iks 
is  conscious  of  the  7tatu7'e  of  his  act.  Hence  it  will 
follow  that,  all  the  special  processes  of  thinking,  such 
as  those  usually  discriminated  as  conception,  judg- 
ment, and  reasoning,  exemplify  this  general  character 
of  the  thinking  process,  and  result  from  the  effects  of 
social  stimulations.  The  process  of  contrasting  my 
own  acts  with  my  fellow's  acts,  and  in  consequence 
of  contrasting  my  own  views  with  what  I  regard  as  the 
ideas  of  my  fellow,  this  is  the  process  which  is  respon- 
sible for  that  kind  of  consciousness  which  appears  in 
all  of  our  thoughtful  activities. 

Let  us  exemplify  these  considerations  by  a  few  words 
about  each  of  the  thinking  processes  which  have  just 
been  mentioned.  The  process  called  Conception,  or 
the  formation  of  Abstract  General  Ideas,  is  rightly  re- 
garded as  essential  to  the  thinking  process.  General 
ideas  are  the  ideas  which  we  associate  with  those  words 
that  have  an  application  to  any  one  of  many  individual 


\ 


286  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

cases  or  situations.  The  word  "man"  or  "horse"  is  a 
word  of  general  application.  The  knowledge  of  what 
this  word  means  involves  a  possession  of  a  general  idea 
of  men  or  of  horses.  Now  of  what  mental  material 
does  such  an  idea  consist  ?  When  it  is  a  lively,  or  a 
highly  conscious  idea,  it  unquestionably  involves,  in  all 
cases,  and  in  one  aspect,  some  kind  of  mental  imagery. 
This  imagery  may,  in  visualising  people,  take  predomi- 
nantly the  form  of  mental  pictures  of  representative 
men  or  of  representative  horses.  It  may  in  some  minds 
take  the  form  of  vague  mental  pictures  corresponding 
to  what  one  might  call  "  composite  photographs,"  such 
as  the  mind  would  seem  to  have  formed  from  retaining 
in  imagination  the  characters  common  to  many  individ- 
ual horses  or  men,  while  forgetting  the  characters 
wherein  various  individuals  differ  from  one  another. 
But  it  is,  nevertheless,  possible  for  one  who  is  not  a 
visualiser  to  have  as  clear  an  idea  of  what  he  means  by 
"man"  or  "horse"  as  the  visualising  man  possesses. 
And  our  more  developed  abstract  ideas,  such  as  mathe- 
matical abstractions,  or  such  as  our  conception  of  jus- 
tice, involve  mental  processes  to  whose  portrayal  visual 
imagery  is  extremely  inadequate.  One  comes  nearer  to 
dwelling  upon  the  essential  characteristics  which  the  ab- 
stract ideas  of  a  horse  or  of  a  man  must  possess  when 
one  observes  that  whoever  knows  ivhat  a  horse  or  man  in 
r  general  is,  knows  of  some  kind  of  act  which  it  is  fitting 
\to  perform  in  the  presence  of  any  object  of  the  class  in 


HIGHER   FORMS   OF   DOCILITY  287 

question.  This  act  is  of  such  a  nature  as  either  directly 
portrays  the  characters  of  the  object,  or  else  in  some 
fashion  tends,  if  expressed  outwardly,  to  convey  to  an- 
other the  idea  of  man  or  of  horse  that  one  possesses. 
The  name  "  man  "  or  "  horse,"  the  word-image  associ- 
ated with  any  such  object,  is  itself  a  part  of  a  well- 
known  act  by  which  one  may  react  in  the  presence  of 
an  object  of  the  class  in  question.'  For  7iaming  objects' 
5 is  07ie  way  of  responding  to  tJieir  presence.'  And  the 
name  has  value  for  consciousness,  not  merely  because 
it  happens  to  be  associated  with  the  object,  but  because 
it  is  associated  with  the  object  as  my  fitting  and  proper 
way  of  treating  the  object  or  of  reacting  to  its  presence, 
especially  in  case  I  wish  to  inform  another  of  the  fact 
that  I  have  seen  man  or  horse.  But,  in  addition  to  the 
use  of  the  name,  the  one  who  possesses  the  correct 
general  idea  of  the  objects  is  able  to  perform  numer- 
ous other  fitting  acts  in  presence  of  any  object  of  the 
class  in  question.  At  the  moment  when  he  brings 
to  clearer  consciousness  his  general  idea  of  man  or 
horse,  he  either  remembers  some  such  act — some  act 
by  which  he  could  fittingly  characterise  his  own  usual 
relations  to  man  or  horse,  —  or  some  act  by  means  of 
which  he  could  imitate  or  portray  (much  as,  in  the 
gesture  language,  any  one  portrays  an  object  by  an 
imitative  sign)  an  aspect  of  the  nature  of  man  or  of 
horse ;  or  else,  if  he  performs  no  such  act  at  the  mo- 
ment, he  has  a  feeling  of  cojifidence  that  he  could  perform 


288  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

such  an  act,  that  he  could  tell  himself,  if  he  chose,  more 
clearly  what  he  means  by  man  or  by  horse.  Such  a 
feeling  of  confidence  is  a  feeling  similar  to  those  feel- 
ings of  familiarity  earlier  described.  It  is  a  feeling  of 
the  relatively  quiescent  type.  Such  a  feeling  frequently 
takes  the  place  in  our  minds  of  any  more  explicit  effort 
consciously  to  understand  what  we  mean  by  a  familiar 
word ;  so  that  often  what  we  call  the  understanding  of 
a  word  is  simply  the  hearing  of  the  word,  attended  by  a 
feeling  of  familiarity,  and  of  confidence  that  we  could, 
if  necessary,  proceed  to  give  further  accounts  or  por- 
trayals of  the  nature  of  the  object  whereof  the  word  is 
the  general  name.  '  But  as  soon  as  we  proceed  from 
such  feelings  to  the  more  concrete  act  of  conception, 
our  general  ideas,  if  they  become  explicit,  ^nust  take  the 
form  of  further  tendencies  to  conduct,  of  tendencies  to  por- 
tray or  to  describe  or  to  depict  the  nature  of  the  object  by 
a  fitting  series  of  reactiojis,  such  as  would  be  suitable,  on 
our  part,  in  the  presence  of  any  object  of  the  class 
in  question,  and  such  as  would  be  suitable  to  portray  to 
another  our  general  ideas. 

§  III.  Our  general  ideas ^  whether  exact  or  inexact, 
stand  therefore  for  certain  mental  attitudes  assumed 
toward  any  object  of  the  class  of  which  we  have  the 
general  idea.  Any  such  mental  attitude  is  accom- 
panied by  imagery,  and  the  mental  imagery  may  be 
so  prominent  that  certain  people,  especially  visualisers, 
suppose  that  they  sufficiently  describe  their  conscious 


HIGHER  FORMS   OF  DOCILITY  289 

states  when  they  characterise  their  general  ideas  as 
images,  more  or  less  vague,  of  typical  objects  of  the 
class  in  question.  But,  as  we  pointed  out  in  discussing 
our  mental  imagery,  oitr  mental  images  of  outer  objects 
are  never  to  be  divorced  from  our  reactions.  When  we 
have  lively  images,  we  tend  to  express  our  whole  atti- 
tude toward  their  objects  in  fitting  behaviour,  as  the 
child,  when  playing  with  imaginary  comrades,  or 
telling  stories,  illustrates.  Moreover,  whoever  has  a 
general  idea  of  a  class  of  tilings,  is  able  to  show  yoii 
that  he  has  a  correct  general  idea  only  in  so  far  as  this 
idea  expresses  itself  in  fitting  acts.  Whoever  believes 
himself  to  have  a  correct  general  idea  of  a  tiger, 
merely  because  he  has  an  image  of  a  tiger,  has  only 
to  ask  himself  whether  his  general  idea  of  a  tiger  is 
such  as  to  permit  him  to  believe  that  when  you  meet 
a  tiger  you  pat  him  on  the  head  and  ask  him  to  give 
you  his  paw,  in  order  to  see  that  his  image  of  a  tiger 
possesses  what  Professor  James  has  so  skilfully  called 
a  "  fringe  "  —  a  fringe  which  at  once  excludes  any  such 
disposition  to  deal  with  a  tiger  as  one  does  with  a 
pet  dog.  One's  general  idea  of  a  tiger  includes  states 
of  feeling,  which  may  indeed  be  represented  to  mo- 
mentary consciousness  only  in  the  form  of  a  general 
sense  of  famiUarity  with  the  idea  or  with  the  word 
"tiger,"  or  only  by  the  general  confidence  that,  if  one 
were  asked  to  portray  the  nature  of  a  tiger,  one  could 
in  some  respect  fittingly  do  so.     But  these  feelings  of 


290  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

quiescence  in  the  presence  of  the  famiUar  name  or 
image  are  themselves  indications  of  tendencies  which 
tell  one  how  one  ought  to  act  in  the  presence  of  an 
object  of  the  class  in  question.  If  one's  confidence, 
that  one's  general  idea  is  a  good  one,  is  well  founded, 
and  if  one  then  allows  one's  general  idea  of  the  object 
in  question  to  become  explicit  and  fully  developed, 
instead  of  remaining  a  mere  fragmentary  image  or 
word-memory,  then  one  discovers  that  the  whole  general 
idea  involves  what  one  may  as  well  call  "  a  pla7i  of 
actio7i,''  that  is,  a  way  of  behaviour  which  is  fitting  to 
characterise  and  portray  an  object  of  the  class  in  question. 
§  112.  The  fact  that  too  many  psychological  ac- 
counts of  the  nature  of  general  ideas  have  resulted 
from  confining  psychological  attention  to  the  frag- 
mentary images  which  may  appear  at  any  stage  of 
the  development  or  expression  in  consciousness  of  a 
general  idea,  instead  of  considering  the  total  mental 
process  which  is  needed  in  order  to  portray  with 
relative  completeness  any  general  idea  whatever,  is 
responsible  for  the  result  that  the  traditional  account 
of  general  ideas  has  usually  missed  this,  their  relation 
to  our  conduct.  But  if  this  relation  exists,  Uf  every\ 
complete  general  idea  is  a  conscious  plan  of  action,  fitted^ 
for  the  characterisation  and  portrayal  of  the  nature  of 
that  of  which  we  have  a  general  idea,  the  psychological 
question  regarding  the  genesis  of  general  ideas  is 
simply  the  question  as  to  how  we  could  become  clearly 


HIGHER   FORMS  OF  DOCILITY  29 1 

conscious  of  such  plans  of  actio7i.  For,  as  we  pointed 
out  above,  we  are  not  usually  clearly  conscious  of  pre- 
cisely those  acts  which  have  become  most  habitual,  unless 
special  conditions  call  our  attention  to  their  constitution. 

Our  answer  to  the  question  thus  raised  has  already 
been  stated.  The  fact  that  all  our  general  ideas  have 
been  formed  under  social  conditions,  and  that  the  ways 
in  which  we  describe,  portray,  and  characterise  things 
have  been  throughout  determined  by  motives  of  com- 
munication, by  a  disposition  to  imitate  the  behaviour  of 
our  fellows,  and  by  a  disposition  to  compare  our  own 
mental  attitudes  with  theirs,  this  fact  sufficiently  ex- 
plains why  the  social  co7ttrasts  and  comparisons  in 
question  have  tended  to  make  us  and  keep  us  conscious 
not  only  of  our  owji  objects,  but  of  our  own  modes  of 
rational  behaviour  in  tJieir  prese7tce.  >.  up  ^ 

Meanwhile,  the  essentially  imitative  character  of  all       )i  tJL 
complex  general  ideas  appears  in  all  our  most  thought- 
ful processes,  namely,  in  our  more  elaborate  scientific 
general  ideas.     Such  general  ideas  are  best  expressed-^-^'    ^, 
by  drawing  diagrams,  or  by  going  through  the  processes        «,<^H^ 
of  a  scientific  experiment,  or  by  writing  formulas  on  a 
blackboard,  or,  finally,  by  describing   objects    in  well- 
ordered  series  of  descriptive  words.     From  this  point  of 
view  one  might  declare  that  all  our  Jiighcr  cojiceptions, 
just  in  proportion  as  they  are  thoughtful  and  definite, 
ifivolve  conscious  imitations  of  things.  j^And  these  con- 
ceptions are  general,  merely  because  the  fashion  of  imi- 


292  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

</    tatioji  tJiat  we  employ  in  the  presence  of  07te  object  will 
^>>^r^gularly  be  applicable  to  a  great  number  of  objects. 

Our  numerical  ideas  illustrate  this  principle  very  well. 
They  are  more  or  less  abbreviated   expressions  of  the 
^qtor  activity  of  counting,  and  of   the  results  of   this 
activity.     The  geometrical  conception  of  a  circle  as  a 
curve  that  can  be  constructed  by  fixing  one  end  of  a 
straight  line,  by  leaving  the  other  free,  and  by  allowing 
this  end  to  rotate  in  a  plane,  is  another  instance  of  a 
conception  that  is  identical  with  our  memory  of  a  cer- 
tain mode  of  portrayal  by  which  a  circle  can  be  recon- 
structed.   In  brief,  we  have  exact  conceptions  of  things  in\ 
r  so  far  as  we  know  how  the  things  are  made,  or  how  they\ 
\can  be  imitatively  reconstructed  through  our  portrayal^ 
Wherg  our  power  to  imitate  ceases,  our  power  definitely 
to  conceive  ceases  also.     All  science  is  thus   an  effort 
to  describe  facts,  to  set  over  against  the  real  world  an 
imitation  of  it.     Hence  the  vanity  of   endeavouring  to 
describe  the  process  of  conception  merely  in  terms  of 
images,    without    remembering    that    mental    imagery, 
when  definite,  is  always  related  to  our  action.     But  it 
is  our  social  life   that  has   inade   us   co7iscious  of  our 
actions,  and  that  has  thus  taught  us  how  to  form  abstract 
ideas. 

§  113.    The  mental  process  called  Judgment   is   the 
second  essential  aspect  of  the  thinking  process.     While 
^  judgment    involves    many    other   aspects,   its   essential 
feature  lies  in  the  fact  that,  when  we  judge,  we  accept 


HIGHER   FORMS   OF   DOCILITY  293 

/  or  reject  a  given  proposed  portrayal  of  objects  as  adequate, 
L^er  as  jittiiig  for  its  own  purpose.  ^T"^^  general  concep- 
tion, as  we  have  just  seen,  is  a  portrayal,  which  one 
may  compare  to  a  photograph  of  a  man.  ••  The  act  of 
judgment  is  comparable  to  the  act  whereby  one  to 
whom  the  photographer  sends  the  proofs  of  a  pho- 
tograph, accepts  or  rejects  the  photograph  as  a  worthy 
representation  of  the  object  in  question. ."  But  our 
consciousness  regarding  the  acceptance  or  rejection 
of  proposed  portrayals  of  objects  has  become  critical, 
has  come  to  involve  a  sharp  distinction  between  truth 
and  error,  because  zve  have  so  often  compared  our  judg- 
ments with  those  of  our  fellows^  and  have  so  often 
criticised,  accepted,  or  rejected  their  expressions,  their 
attitudes  toward  things.  Here  again  the  conditions  upon 
which  the  social  consciousness  depends  have  proved 
necessary  to  the  formation  of  our  thought. 

§  114.   The   process  of   reasoning,  the   third   aspect 
,      of  the  thinking  process,  is  in  general  tJie  process  of  con-       J 
^sidering  the   residts  of  proposed  conceptions   and  judg- 
impifs,   of  taking  them,  so   to   speak,  as  if   they  were 
themselves  original  objects,  and   of   reading   off   from 
some  new  point  of  view  the  results  which  these  concep- 
tions or  judgments,  when  once  accepted,  involve.     The 
reasoning    process   is   often    regarded    by    students    of 
psychology  as  in    the  main  a  case   of   the    association 
of   ideas.      And    that   associations    are    concerned    in 
every  step  of  the    reasoning    process    is    indisputable. 


294  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

Conceptions  and  judgments  inevitably  express  habitual 
activities.  Thought  is  a  result  of  experience,  and 
nothing  appears  in  the  thinking  process  which  is  not 
profoundly  influenced,  from  the  psychological  point  of 
view,  by  the  laws  of  habit.  But  to  regard  a  train 
of  reasoning  as  merely  an  associative  train  of  images 
is  indeed  to  emphasise  a  true  aspect  of  a  train  of 
reasoning,  but  is  to  neglect  its  most  important  aspect. 
So  too,  as  we  have  before  asserted,  all  thinking  and 
so  all  reasoning,  involves  assimilation  (§  96).  But  we 
have  also  said  that  thought  is  much  more  than  mere 
assimilation.  As  a  fact,  every  act  of  reasoning  in- 
volves new  reactions  of  our  own  in  the  presence  of  a 
situation  which  we  get  before  us  as  the  result  of 
former  acts.  The  essence  of  reasoning,  as  of  the 
whole  thinking  process,  is  that  I  am  not  merely  con- 
cerned with  the  way  in  which  images  float  before  me, 
but  with  viy  consciousness  of  what  I  am  doing  with 
these  images,  or  with  the  objects  that  the  images  sug- 
gest. When  I  reason,  the  object  before  me  for  con- 
sideration is  principally  represented  by  images  of  the 
results  of  former  acts.  (  My  reasoning  process  involves 
a  new  judgment  based  upon  these  former  acts.V 
>^  Thus,  if  I  am  constructing  a  diagram,  and  upon 
a  right  line  have  placed  a  point  B  to  the  right  of 
point  A,  and  have  placed  a  point  C  to  the  right  of 
point  B,  I  so  far  actually  portray  a  situation  which  I 
may  regard  as  representing  the  nature  of  some  series 


HIGHER   FORMS   OF   DOCILITY  295 

of  objects.  If,  hereupon,  I  observe  that  my  construc- 
tion involves  as  a  fact  that  C,  being  to  the  right  of 
B,  must  by  so  much  the  more  be  to  the  right  of  A, 
and  if  I  hereupon  note  that  this  must  hold  true  of 
the  object  which  the  diagram  represents,  then  I  rea- 
son. (Mvxeasoning  thus  consists  iti  finding  out  from 
some  new  point  of  viezv  ivhat  I  have  meant  by  my 
former  acts  and  judgments.  ^  We  bring  out  the  essence 
of  the  reasoning  process  when,  in  an  appeal  to  a 
careless  child  who  has  done  some  mischief,  we  say, 
"  See  what  you  have  done."  Reasoning  is  thus  the 
reading  off  of  the  result  of  our  former  thoughtful  acts 
from  some  new  point  of  view.  But  it  indeed  involves 
no  essentially  new  mental  tendency.  It  is  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  consciousness  which  characterises  the 
whole  thinking  process,  only  of  this  consciousness  on 
a  higher  level. 

As  reasoning  involves  a  constantly  more  and  more 
elaborate  consciousness  of  the  7iature  and  results  of  our 
own  action  so  again  we  see,  from  the  whole  history  of 
the  development  of  the  reason  amongst  men,  that 
reasoning  is  a  co7isequence  of  social  situations^  and  espe- 
cially of  the  process  of  comparing  various  opinions  and 
comiections  of  opinioji,  as  these  have  grown  up  amongst 
men.  The  whole  method  of  the  reasoning  process  has 
come  to  the  consciousness  of  men  as  the  result  of  dis- 
putation, that  is,  of  processes  whereby  men  have  com- 
pared together  their  various  ways  of  portraying  things, 


296  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

and  of    taking   accounts  of   the  results   of   their   own 
actions.    Nobody  Icarjis  to  reason  except  after  other  people 

Shave  pointed  out  to  him  how  they  view  his  attempts  to 
give  his  own  acts  of  thought  connection,  and  to  proceed, 
^from  one  act  to  another^  Like  the  thinking  process  in 
general,  the  reasoning  process  develops  out  of  condi- 
tions which  at  the  outset  involve  a  very  rich,  and  in 
fact  predominant  presence  of  feelings  and  of  complex 
emotions.  That  is,  reasonings  have  resulted  from  what 
were  at  first  decidedly  passionate  contrasts  of  opinion ; 
and  the  dispassionate  reason  has  grown  up  upon  the 
basis  of  decidedly  emotional  efforts  of  men  to  persuade 
other  men  to  assume  their  own  fashions  of  conduct,  and 
their  own  self-conscious  view  of  how  their  various  acts 
were  connected  together.  If  the  process  of  conception 
is  the  formation  of  a  plan  of  conduct,  the  process  of 
reasoning  results  from  trying  so  to  portray  this  plaft  as  to 
persuade  other  men  to  assume  it.  Persuasion  and  con- 
troversy, upon  earlier  stages  of  mental  development,  are 
always  associated  with  passionate  vehemence.  The 
ineffectiveness  of  mere  passion  to  attain  its  own  social 
ends,  the  growth  of  ingenuity  in  the  process  of  per- 
suasion, and  the  gradual  elaboration  of  social  habits, 
formed  through  the  successful  bringing  of  men  to  agree- 
ment, —  such  are  the  motives  upon  which  the  develop- 
ment of  the  reasoning  process  has  depended. 

§  115.    It  remains  here   very  briefly  to    characterise 
the    highest   and   most  complex  of   all  the  intellectual 


HIGHER   FORMS  OF   DOCILITY  297 

processes,  namely  that  one  which  has  to  do  with  what 
is  called  our  "  Self-consciousness  "  in  general,  that  is, 
the  consciousness  which  the  Ego,  the  Self,  possesses  of 
its  own  life,  activities,  and  plans.  TJie  Self  of  a7iy  man  ( 
comes  to  consciottsness  only  in  contrast  with  other  selves. 
There  is  no  reason  why  one  should  be  aware  of  his 
whole  plan  of  life,  or  of  his  personal  character,  or  of 
the  general  connections  amongst  his  various  habits,  or 
of  the  value  of  his  own  hfe,  or  of  any  of  the  features 
and  attributes  which  our  present  consciousness  ascribes 
to  the  Self,  unless  he  has  had  occasion  to  compare  his 
behaviour,  his  feelings,  and  his  ideals,  with  those  of 
other  men.  It  is  true  that  when  developed,  this  Self 
includes  amongst  its  possessions  all  the  states  of  con- 
sciousness that  make  up  the  inner  life  of  which  we 
spoke  in  our  opening  paragraphs,  that  inner  life  which 
we  conceived  as  in  some  sense  inaccessible  to,  and  sun- 
dered from,  the  inner  life  of  anybody  else.  But  there 
is  no  reason  why  these  states  of  consciousness  should 
form,  from  our  own  point  of  view,  a  world  by  themselves, 
unless  we  had  some  world  of  other  facts  to  compare 
and  contrast  them  with.  And  the  whole  evidence  of 
our  social  consciousness  is  to  the  effect  that  it  is  by 
virtue  of  our  ideas  of  other  people,  and  of  their  minds 
and  conscious  states,  that  we  have  come  to  form  the 
conception  of  our  own  inner  life  as,  in.  its  wholeness, 
distinct  from  theirs. 

The  conception  of  the  so-called  Empirical  Self,  that 


298  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

is,  of  the  Self  of  our  ordinary  experience,  is  one  which 
we  find  to  be  especially  centred  about  certain  of  our 
most  important  organic  sensations,  and  also  centred 
about  those  feelings  of  pleasure,  pain,  restlessness,  and 
quiescence,  which  are  most  persistent  and  prominent  in 
our  lives.  But  the  mere  possession  of  these  organic 
sensations  and  feelings  is  not  sufficient  to  explain  why 
we  regard  them  as  pecuHarly  belonging  to  the  Self.  It  is 
only  when  we  see  the  importance  that  our  social  life 
with  our  fellows  has  given  to  these  organic  sensations 
that  we  recognise  how  we  first  have  come  to  contrast 
our  own  experience  with  what  we  for  various  reasons 
conceive  to  be  the  inner  experiences  of  other  people, 
^~and  then,  by  virtue  of  the  prominence  which  our  social 
contrasts  and  oppositions  give  to  these  organic  sensa- 
tions, have  come  to  regard  them  as  especially  the  imme- 
diate expression  of  our  independence,  and  of  that  which 
keeps  us  apart  from  all  other  selves. 

That  the  Self  comes  to  consciousness  in  normal 
cases  only  in  connection  with  organised  plans  of  con- 
duct, is  obvious  from  what  has  already  been  said.  Our 
social  self-consciousness  leads  us  to  form  such  plans, 
and  to  compare  them  with  those  of  other  people.  Our 
consciousness  of  ourselves  as  personalities^  is  there- 
fore simply  an  extreme  instance  of  that  relation  be- 
tween social  consciousness  and  the  higher  intellectual' 
development  which  we  have  already  set  forth  in  our 
account  of  the  general  nature  of  thought. 


/ 


CHAPTER  XIII 
The  Conditions  of  Mental  Initiative 

§  ii6.  In  treating  of  docility  we  have  everywhere 
had  to  take  account  of  the  presence  of  novelty  both 
in  our  experience  and  in  our  conduct.  But  on  the 
whole,  such  novelty  has  thus  far  been  treated  as  some- 
thing due,  in  the  main,  to  the  external  stimuli,  and  to 
the  order  in  which  they  come.  A  new  habit,  as  we 
have  said,  may  arise  because  certain  stimuli  A,  B,  C,  D, 
act  upon  the  organism.  These  stimuli  have  never 
been  thus  together  before.  The  resulting  brain  pro- 
cesses, a,  d,  c,  d,  excited  together,  tend  by  the  law  of 
habit  to  become  connected  through  repetition,  so  that 
they  are  more  easily  aroused. 

We  have  indeed  observed  that,  when  new  habits  are 
formed,  not  all  that  occurs  can  be  said  to  be  due  either 
to  the  external  stimuli  or  to  their  repetition.     For  there 


/ 

is  a  certain  internally  conditioned  tendency  on  the  part 
of  the  gradually  improving  habit  to  grow  more  defi- 
nite, to  lose  its  useless  elements,  to  involve  less  diffuse 
discharges.  This  tendency,  as  we  have  said,  is  due 
to  the  general  adaptabihty  of  the  organism.     We  left 

it  to  biological  science  further  to  explain  the  existence 

299 


300  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

of  such  tendencies  to  the  elimination  of  the  unfit  con- 
stituents of  habits.  But  the  rest  of  the  process  of 
the  acquisition  and  the  welding  of  habits  involves 
features  that  were,  as  thus  far  considered,  of  one  gen- 
eral type.  This  is  the  type  which  determines  our 
whole  dociUty,  both  in  its  intellectual  and  in  its  vol- 
untary aspects.  Assimilation,  as  we  found,  tends  to 
minimise  whatever  novelties  new  disturbances  intro- 
duce into  the  organism.  Even  the  differentiation  of 
conscious  states  we  also  found  to  be  an  exemplifica- 
tion of  the  law  of  habit.  For  differentiation  is  due  to 
the  fact  that  habits  of  successive  action,  when  once 
acquired,  determine  our  consciousness  of  the  differ- 
ences of  simultaneous  facts.  The  processes  of  the 
attention  have  appeared  as  further  examples  of  the 
law  of  habit.  The  organisation  of  conduct  follows 
the  same  Hne.  So  far  there  has  therefore  seemed  to 
be  no  room  left  for  any  normal  initiative  which  could 
be  said  to  be  due  in  the  main  to  the  organism  or,  on 
its  psychical  side,  to  the  mind. 

Yet  as  our  introduction  pointed  out,  there  is  at 
least  the  appearance  of  mental  initiative  in  the  phe- 
nomena of  human  ingenuity,  in  the  acts  which  tradition 
has  regarded  as  due  to  free-will,  and  in  the  processes 
of  '' self -activity  "  generally.  This  appearance  we  now 
need  in  conclusion  to  examine  more  carefully.  We 
should  come  to  the  subject  with  no  prejudice  in  favour 
of    finding   that   this   appearance   of   mental    initiative 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF  MENTAL  INITIATIVE  30I 

either  is  or  is  not  a  well-founded  appearance.  We 
ought  neither  to  be  surprised  to  find  the  processes  in 
question  reducible  to  those  which  govern  our  docility, 
nor  unwilling  to  admit  that  in  some  respects  they  are 
not  thus  reducible.  ^A^  ^ 

Modern  biological  theory,  by  its  recognition  of  what-^-'^''^^-^^  " 
have  been   called   "  spontaneous  variations  "  as  factors  ij^vvOuC 
in  evolution  has,  at  all  events,  prepared  the  way  for  thccx^J  T"^ 
recognition  of  the  possible  presence  in  the  psycholo-    ,  "X?^ 
gist's  world  of  tendencies  which  are  essentially  disposed 
to  the  production  of  novel  forms  of  conduct,  such  as  the 
environment  does  not  wholly  predetermine,  and  to  the 
formation   of  novel  combijiations   of  mental  processes, 
such  as  previous  habits  have  not  wholly  rendered  nec- 
essary.    That   such    relative   novelties   should  be  pos- 
sible in   the  psychologist's  world,  is  in  itself    no  more 
surprising  than  that  variations  of  stature,  of  protective 
colouring,   or   of    inherited  functions,  should   occur  in 
the  world  that  the  zoologist  studies.     Certainly  a  gen- 
eral view  of  the  place  wJiich  bei7igs  with  mijids  occupy 
in  the  physical  world  strongly  suggests  that  their  organ- 
isms may  especially  have  sigiiificance   as  places  for  the 
ijiitiation  of  more  or  less  ttovel  types  of  activity.     That 
such  novelty  does   not    mean    the  absence  of   law,  we 
have  already  pointed  out. 

We  do  not  expect  that  the  psychologist  will  ever  be 
interested  in  events  whose  relations  to  previous  events 
he   regards   as    reducible    to    no    sort   of    rule.     Every 


302  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

science  studies  its  facts  for  the  sake  of  finding  them 
instances  that  conform  to  rule.  But  nature  furnishes 
us,  even  in  the  inorganic  world,  with  numerous  instances 
of  what  are  called  "  critical  points,"  viz.,  points  where 
one  kind  of  process  ends,  and  a  process  of  a  decidedly 
distinct  kind  appears  quite  suddenly  to  begin.  The 
advance  of  scientific  theory  does,  indeed,  depend  upon 
discovering  that,  even  at  these  critical  points,  there 
is  no  absolute  discontinuity  in  the  physical  processes 
involved.  But  this  fact  does  not  deprive  the  critical 
points  of  their  scientific  interest.  (  By  so  much  the 
more  might  we  expect  to  find  that,  in  the  development 
of  a  creature  with  a  mind,  there  are  indeed  critical 
points,  —  places  where  something  decidedly  novel  be- 
gins to  appear ;  and  where  this  novelty  is  not  wholly 
determined  by  the  relations  between  the  organism  and 
its  environment,  but  is  also  in  part  determined  by  fac- 
tors which  are  due  to  the  organism  itself,  and  which 
are  not  wholly  reducible  to  the  laws  governing  our 
docility.  That  such  critical  points  in  the  development 
of  an  organism  or  of  a  mind  involve  no  absolute  dis- 
continuities, we  shall  unquestionably  admit.  But  that 
"^  fact  need  not  deprive  the  phenomena  of  mental  initia- 
V   tive  of  their  very  considerable  interest. 

,  ^    §  1 1 7.   We  have  heretofore  spoken  of   the  instincts, 

-j^nvhich  lie  at  the  basis  of  the  development  of  our  con- 

^.5-^_  duct,  as  if  they  were  finished  products  of  heredity.     We 

;\f  have  pointed  out  that,  when  external  experiences  arouse 


^ 


THE   CONDITIONS   OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE  303 

these  instincts,  tlie  result  is  the  performance  of  actions 
which  leave  traces  in  our  central  nervous  system,  and 
which  therefore  tend  to  the  formation  of  habits.     But, 
as  a  fact,  the  phenomena  of  the  appearance  of  instinct, 
either  in  infancy  or  later  in  the  course  of  our  develop- ^^/aa^-^Ua 
ment,  are  not  so  simple  as  this  general  formula  would  ^t^iZaJC^kI^ 
dicate.     In  general,  our  most  important  instincts  appear'^'<^«>-  t 
slowly,  bit  by  bit,  not  as  at  all  finished  tendencies  to  ifX^-N--^^ 
specific  kinds  of   reaction,  but    as    at   first   crude   and^X^^ 
awkward  tendencies  m  the  general  direction  of  a  givefi\X\A^  Vi 
ki7id  of  action.      The   unfinished   form   in   which   the         ^>M 
instincts  appear  in  all  the  higher  vertebrates  seems  to  ^ 

be  of  great  importance  for  the  development  of  the 
individual  animal.  It  gives  opportunities  to  train  the 
individual  to  special  adaptations  to  his  environment, 
such  as  are  indicated  by  the  special  circumstances  in 
which  he  finds  himself.  Thus,  the  aquatic  bird  may 
have  to  learn,  and  that  somewhat  slowly,  its  first  acts 
of  swimming.  And  still  more  obviously  the  human 
infant  spends  a  long  time  in  training  the  preUminary 
stages  that  lead  it  on  the  way  toward  creeping,  climb- 
ing, and  walking.  The  reader  of  Miss  Shinn's 
elaborate  and  highly  instructive  monograph  on  The 
Development  of  a  Child  will  find  in  her  account  a 
remarkably  minute  discussion  of  the  phenomena  that 
appear  in  the  case  of  the  infant  whom  she  studied. 
Every  one  of  the  acts  that  finally  resulted  in  the  attain- 
ment of  the  power  to  creep,  to  climb,  and  to  walk,  was 


304  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

very  slowly  reached  as  the  result  of  a  training  whose 
details  were  nowhere  predetermined  by  heredity,  while 
on  the  other  hand,  every  step  of  the  process  was  indeed 
predetermined  by  hereditary  constitution  to  tetidy  in  the 
,  normal  child,  toward  a  result  that  would  give  it,  wider 
J  the  circmnstances  of  its  individual  life,  the  powers  of 
\locomotion  stated  to  a  human  being.  In  consequence, 
the  development  of  the  individual  child,  with  regard 
to  such  activities  as  those  of  locomotion,  is  at  every 
step  subject  to  sucJi  modifications  as  tejid  to  adapt  the 
child  to  its  individual  surronndijigs .  The  child  does 
not  possess  its  instinctive  adaptations  in  any  finished 
form,  nor  even  in  such  form  that  habits,  having  a  defi- 
nite character,  can  at  all  rapidly  be  acquired.  On  the 
contrary,  the  early  habits,  in  case  of  such  complex 
processes  as  those  of  locomotion,  appear  for  a  long 
time  in  the  form  of  very  gradual  and  awkward  acts, 
that  do  indeed,  in  some  measure,  adjust  the  child  to  its 
environment,  but  for  a  long  time  leave  this  adjustment 
very  poor  and  ineffective. 

§  ii8.  The  same  principle  seems  to  hold  true  with 
regard  to  all  the  instincts  upon  whose  modification  and 
gradual  training  all  our  higher  rational  habits  depend. 
^  IX.'  ^'^The  higher  we  are  in  tJie  scale  of  m.ental  existence,  the 
liL  yukfk^^^^  ^^  the  process  of  learning  to  adapt  ourselves  to  the 
;&V-A  (^^^^^'^^^^^^>  the  more  awkward  are  the  intermediate 
^K^jAjJt^^^^^  lyirig  between  the  first  signs  that  we  possess  a 
given  instinctive   tendency,  and   the  fitting  expression 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF  MENTAL  INITIATIVE  305 

of  the  modifications  of  this  instinctive  tendency  in  the 
form  of  definite  conduct.  Hence  the  long  continued 
awkwardness  of  the  growing  boy  and  youth.  Hence 
the  long  apprenticeship  through  which  many  forms  of 
professional  skill  and  artistic  ability  have  to  pass. 
That,  in  the  course  of  such  a  development,  there  should 
be  a  constant  tendency  to  the  appearance  of  variatio7is  of 
individual  conduct,  whose  precise  details  are  not  prede- 
tennijied  by  heredity y  and  yet  are  not  easily  to  be  ex- 
plaijied  merely  in  te7'ins  of  docility,  is  fairly  plain  ;  for  if 
our  instinctive  tendencies  come  to  light  only  slowly  as 
the  nervous  centres  grow  toward  maturity,  the  ex- 
ternal expressions  of  our  conduct  will  be  determined 
not  merely  by  what  happens  to  the  organism  nor  by 
what  the  organism  has  inherited,  but  also  by  the  highly 
individual  and  unpredictable  pJiejiomena  of  the  growth 
of  the  nervons  centres  themselves  during  onr  early  life. 

As  a  fact,  the  brain  of  man  which  seems  to  be  pro- 
vided at  birth  with  all  its  neurons,  develops  for  a  long 
time  after  birth,  and  especially  during   the  first  seven 
years  of  life,  constantly  new  connections,  structural  and     ^ 
functional,  amongst  its  various  parts.    The  form_ation  of^  L^^mm>^ 
these  connections  is  determined  not  merely  by  the  in-/ 
herited  tendencies  of  the  organism,  nor  yet  wholly  b)^ 
the  laws  of  habit,  but  by  the  circumstances  of  grQ^illh- 
These  circumstances  are  unquestionably  affected  by  the 
actual  conduct  of  the  organism  in  question.     But  they 
are  not  in  such  wise  determined  by  it  as  the  habits  are 

X 


3o6  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

determined  by  it  in  previous  behaviour.  It  follows  that 
there  is  a  factor,  hitherto  neglected  in  our  account,  —  a 
factor  which  tends  to  explain  the  appearance  of  unpre- 
dictable variation  in  the  conduct  of  an  immature  organ- 
ism of  our  own  type.  This  factor  is  the  organic  growth. 
So  far  as  this  organic  growth  includes  the  appearance, 
at  certain  stages,  of  decidedly  new  instincts,  such  as 
those  which  appear  at  puberty,  the  phenomena  have 
already  been  excluded,  by  our  initial  definition,  from 
those  phenomena  of  variability  which  concern  us  here. 
But  in  so  far  as  the  phenomena  are  determined  by 
the  growth  of  nervous  centres  and  of  nervous  con- 
nections which  are  all  the  while  undergoing  train- 
ing in  accordance  with  the  laws  of  habit,  the  con- 
sequences will  appear  in  a  type  of  variation  such 
as    our    general    account    has    already    characterised. 

JThat  is,  the  results  will  appear  in  the  form  of  a 
modification  of  habits  i7i  directions  which  are  on  tJie 
whole  adaptive  in  tJieir  cJiaracter^  while  they  ai'e  not 
wholly  to  be  explained  on  the  basis  of  previous  instincts, 
or  as  mere  phenomena  of  docility.     The  variations  which 

'determine  the  gradual  organisation  of  the  movements 
7\of  the  creeping  child  seem  to  belong  in  a  considerable 

^measure  under  this  head. 

§  119.  But  closely  associated  with  these  processes 
there  are  others,  whose  significance  for  our  whole 
organic  life  is  very  great,  although  they  seem  to  be 
rather  too  generally  neglected  in  theoretical  accounts  of 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE         307 

the  development  of  our  conduct.  What  especially  at- 
tracts our  attention,  in  following  the  development  of  the 
creeping  child,  is  the  fact  that  it  persists  i7i  a  gjrat 
jiumber  of  its  still  tmadaptive  movementSy  in  a  great 
number  of  its  still  useless  actions ^  despite  their  i^iefficacy. 
As  Miss  Shinn  expresses  the  results  of  her  own  observa- 
tions in  the  case  of  some  of  these  phenomena,  the  child 
seemed  to  take  delight,  or  to  persist,  in  certain  pro- 
CQSSQ%^ecause  of  the  inner  impulse  to  try  them  again 
and  againTJ 

S  Professor  Baldwin,  in  his  work  on  Mental  Develop- 
nnefit  i7i  the  CJiild  and  in  the  Race  has  done  no  little 
service  by  laying  stress  upon  the  importance  of  such 
"try,  try,  again"  activities  for  the  development  of  imita- 
tive and  of  other  intelligent  functions.  Now  all  such 
actions  may  unquestionably  be  regarded  as  due  to  in- 
stinctive tendencies.  But  the  general  instinct  to  persist 
in  trying^  is  not  like  such  a  special  instinctive  activity  as 
is  the  converging  of  the  optic  axes  when  the  eyes  are 
fixed  upon  an  object.  For  the  latter,  the  special 
instinct,  is,  by  itself,  a  directly  adaptive  instinct.  But  on 
the  other  hand,  the  general  tendency  to  persist  in 
actions  which  are  thus  far  not  adaptive,  is  a  tendency 
which  does  not,  at  the  moment,  or  in  any  brief  time, 
necessarily  lead  to  results  that  are  serviceable  to  the 
organism.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  is  this  general  ten- 
dency one  that  predetermines  precisely  what  kind  of 
act,  whether  adaptive  or  in  so  far  ineffective,  shall  be 


308  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

carried  out.  The  eager  child  is  disturbed  by  its  environ- 
ment, and  hereupon  is  led  somehow  to  a  reaction  which, 
owing  to  the  immaturity  of  the  organism,  is  thus  far 
very  imperfectly  adapted  to  the  environment.  To  the  ob- 
server the  child  seems  to  be  trying  to  do  something,  but 
not  to  know  what  it  wants  to  do.  The  particular  act  in 
question  may  be  the  expression  of  some  instinct  not  yet 
completely  developed.  But  hereupon  there  now  ap- 
pears the  other  instinct,  —  the  mere  tendency  to  persist, 
—  a  tendency  which  has  a  decidedly  generalised  form, 
and  which  may  be  described  as  a  tendency  to  do  again 
and  againy  with  variations ^  whatever  the  child  has  once 
begun  to  do,  without  any  especial  regard  to  whether 
the   act  is  immediately  adaptive  or  not. 

That  this  tendency  plays  a  considerable  part  in  the 
life  of  childhood,  any  observer  may  see  for  himself. 
Miss  Shinn's  subject,  during  all  the  period  of  learning 
to  creep,  to  walk,  and  to  climb,  showed  this  persist- 
ence in  manifold  ways.  It  was  not  a  persistence  due 
in  every  case  to  the  child's  observation  that  she  had 
already  accomplished  an  important  or  otherwise  use- 
ful reaction.  It  was  frequently  a  persistence  in  what 
was  so  far  awkwardness.  I  have  called  the  persist- 
ence a  tendency  of  a  more  generalised  kind,  because 
it  seems  to  be  a  normal  expression  of  the  vigorous 
activity  of  a  growing  organism.  It  seems  also  to  be 
an  expression  which  may  be  applied  in  various  direc- 
tions, so  that  of  itself  it  does  not  predetermine  what 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF  MENTAL  INITIATIVE         309 

activities  shall  be  persisted  in,  but  only  that  any  one 
of  a  large  number  of  imperfect  instinctive  tendencies, 
if  once  begun,  shall  be  repeatedly  pursued.  This 
tendency  seems  to  be  represented  in  consciousness  by 
feelings  in  terms  of  which  the  child  estimates  the 
acts  that  chance  experience,  acting  upon  its  immature 
instincts,  may  have  so  far  initiated.  Observers  usually 
interpret  these  feelings  as,  in  the  normal  case,  predomi- 
nantly those  of  pleasure.  Professor  Baldwin,  who  lays 
great  stress  upon  the  "heightened  activities"  of  the 
organism  as  a  basis  for  the  acquisition  of  new  special 
adaptations  to  the  enviroiynent,  regards  these  height- 
ened activities  themselves  as,  at  the  outset  of  the  evo- 
lutionary process,  the  accompaniments  of  pleasurable 
feelings ;  and  that  this  is  to  a  considerable  extent 
true  is  unquestionable.  But  one  has  only  to  take  a 
somewhat  wider  view  of  activities  of  this  type  to  see 
many  cases  in  which,  even  when  they  first  appear  in 
the  course  of  evolution,  they  seem  to  be  inevitable, 
although  they  do  not  appear  to  be  markedly  pleasur- 
able. From  our  own  point  of  view,  the  feeling  that 
consciously  accompanies  such  early  activities  is  the 
feeling  of  restlessness  rather  than  that  of  pleasure. 

Some  act,  due  to  a  stimulus  working  upon  a  still 
immature  nervous  system,  is  awkwardly  performed, 
and  leads  thus  far  to  no  satisfactory  result.  What 
shall  be  the  consequence  t  The  consequence  of  course 
may   be,  and   often    is,    that   the   mere   activity  of   the 


3IO  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

JicaltJiy  organism  is  itself  joyous ^  whatever  its  result. 
In  this  case  the  child  will  take  pleasure  in  the  act 
and  will  repeat  it.  The  repetition  will  be  an  expres- 
sion at  once  of  the  general  law  of  habit  and  of  the 
usual  effects  of  pleasurable  excitement.  Professor 
Baldwin  finds  at  the  basis  of  all  such  repetitions 
a  certain  fundamental  tendency  of  the  organism  to 
what  he  calls  "  circular  reactions,"  that  is,  to  sorts  of 
reaction  whereby  any  stimulus,  if  once  presented,  is,  if 
possible,  again  repeated.  The  "■  circular  reactions " 
thus  include  all  acts  that  tend  to  be  repeated  over  and 
over.  Granting  the  existence,  in  an  organism,  of  in- 
herited tendencies  to  such  circular  reactions,  granted 
the  heightened  activity  with  its  pleasurable  conscious 
accompaniments,  and  granted  the  occurrence,  in  con- 
sequence, of  any  sort  of  reaction,  however  imperfect 
or  awkward ;  and  then^  indeed,  the  tendency  to  try 
and  try  again,  may  be  regarded  as  a  statural  expressioii 
of  the  whole  relation  between  tJie  organism  and  the 
environment. 

Nevertheless  when  we  ourselves  are  able  consciously 
to  observe,  even  in  maturity,  similar  processes,  the  con- 
scious accompaniments  need  not  be  pleasurable.  We 
may  find,  in  ourselves,  at  such  times,  simply  the  sense 
that  the  result  thus  far  reached  is  imsatisfactory,  and 
we  may  feel  a  restlessness.  This  restlessness  may  con- 
stitute either  a  painful,  or  a  comparatively  indifferent 
state  of   feeling,  so  far  as  pleasure  and    pain  are  con- 


THE  CONDITIONS   OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE  31  I 

cerned.  But  the  feeling  in  all  such  cases  will  be  a 
distinctly  restless  feeling,  and  may  accompany  the 
general  organic  tendency  to  persist  in  trying  afresh. 
This  doing  of  something  further  may,  for  the  reasons 
upon  which  Professor  Baldwin  has  insisted,  appear 
predominantly  m  the  form  of  a  series  of  ^Uirciilar  reac- 
tions.''  But  the  trying  again  may  also  give  place  to 
a7iother  sort  of  restlessness  which  leads  to  efforts  at 
movemcfits  in  some  new  direction.  The  dissatisfied 
creature  may  persist,  bnt  may  persist  in  a  restless 
search  for  whatever  else  caji  be  done  tender  the  circnm- 
stances.  And  the  trying  again  may  be  but  a  mere 
incident  of  this  restlessness,  an  incident  due  to  the 
fact  that  the  repetition  of  the  awkward  act  is  one  of 
the  comparatively  few  resources  which  recent  ex- 
perience has  made  available.  In  any  case,  the  persist- 
ence in  some  sort  of  behaviour,  which  is  involved  in  every 
such  activity,  tends  to  result  in  brijiging  the  07ganism  ijtto 
constafitly  new  relations  with  the  environment.  It  may 
also  result,  as  is  probable,  in  Jiaste^iing  the  growth 
of  those  nervous  connections  whicJi,  in  the  immature 
organism^  will  be  necessary  preliminaries  to  the  acqui- 
sition of  better  adaptatiojis.  In  general,  the  result  of 
the  disposition  to  persist,  either,  with  pleasure,  in  trying 
again  the  awkward  act,  or,  with  restlessness,  in  trying 
anything  whatever  proves  to  be  possible,  will  be  a 
tendency  that  at  the  moment  when  it  most  forcibly 
expresses    itself    in    action    is    not   a    directly  adaptive 


312  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

tendency.  Furthermore,  its  results  will  not  be  wholly 
predetermined  by  heredity,  nor  yet  by  the  kind  of 
relation  to  the  environment  which  the  growing  organ- 
ism has  yet  attained.  The  most  important  consequence 
of  this  vague  struggle  for  something  more  will  be  that 
opport7inities  will  be  given  to  the  organism  to  acquire 
adaptations  which  it  never  conld  acqidrCy  U7iless  this 
predisposition  to  endless  experiment  and  to  the  try- 
ing of  various  relations  with  the  environment  were 
prese7tt. 

§  120.  The  significance  of  the  processes  thus  charac- 
terised will  better  appear  if  we  hereupon  consider  two 
different  classes  of  cases,  the  one  much  lower  and 
simpler  than  is  the  case  with  the  child,  the  other  much 
more  complex,  but  nearer  to  our  own  present  conscious- 
ness. 

Let  us  return  to  the  case  of  the  caged  animal,  or  of 
the  pet  animal  turned  out  of  doors  and  anxious  to  get 
in  again.  Owing  to  the  environment,  such  an  animal 
is,  at  the  moment,  unable,  on  the  basis  either  of  instinct 
or  of  acquired  habit,  to  make  a  desirable  adaptation  to 
its  environment.  It  tries,  struggles,  and  fails.  What 
is  the  result }  The  result  m,ay  be  that,  after  a  certain 
number  of  efforts,  the  discomfort  of  the  struggle  is  so 
great  that  further  effort  is  inhibited,  and  the  animal 
passively  resigns  itself  to  the  situation.  So  far  no 
phenomena  appear  which  are  not  generally  explicable 
on  the  basis  of  sensitiveness,  instinct,  and  docility.    But 


THE   CONDITIONS   OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE         313 

now  on  the  other  hand,  the  animal  may  contimie  its 
attempts  to  escape  or  to  get  in.  It  may  continue  them 
in  the  form  of  constantly  varied  activities  whereby 
it  tries  experiments,  such  as  bring  it  into  entirely 
novel  contact  with  the  environment.  These  experi- 
ments may  tUtimatcly  result  in  the  occurrence  of  acts 
for  which  the  animaVs  previous  traini7tg  had  not  pre- 
pared it.  When  these  acts  finally  occur,  they  will 
indeed  be  the  result  of  a  process  of  trial  and  error. 
They  will  indeed  be  instances  of  sensitiveness  and 
docility.  They  may  involve  successful  adaptations. 
They  may  thereupon  estabUsh  useful  habits  for  the 
animal's  future  conduct.  But  one  feature  of  the 
whole  process  remains  which  is  not  fully  explained 
in  terms  of  the  animal's  special  instincts  (such  as 
desire  for  warmth  or  for  food  or  for  comfort),  and 
which  is  also  not  explained  upon  the  basis  of  the 
animal's  previous  habits.  This  feature  is  suggested 
by  the  question  :  Why  did  the  a7iimal  persist,  under 
apparently  hopeless  conditions,  and  despite  failures } 
Why  did  it  persist  in  activities  which  were  so  far  ?tot 
adaptive  ? 

The  answer  to  this  question  may  sometimes  be  stated 
in  terms  of  the  animal's  painful  feelings.  One  may  say 
that  the  animal  continued  to  long  for  food,  or  for  other 
comfort,  and  to  have  some  idea,  based  upon  its  former 
experience  —  some  idea  of  the  attainment  of  its  ends. 
Its  docility  and  its  already  established  habits  would  then 


314  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

explain  why,  with  such  feelings,  it  persisted.  But  such 
an  explanation  in  terms  of  the  animal's  feelings  is,  after 
all,  ambiguous.  For  the  struggle  is  painful,  as  well  as 
the  failure.  The  point  may  come  where  the  pain  of  the 
struggle  becomes  greater  than  the  pain  of  the  lack.  In 
case  of  a  sufficiently  hopeless  struggle  this  point  is  actu- 
ally reached,  and  the  animal  finally  surrenders  to  fate. 
But  what  determines  whether  the  one  of  these  two  pains 
is  greater  than  the  other  .''  The  answer  is,  of  course,  to 
be  given  in  terms  of  the  nervous  constitution  of  the 
animal  itself. 

But  when  one  considers  this  constitution,  one  has  to 
take  account  of  still  another  fact.  Some  animals  are 
actively  persistent.  They  are  so  by  inherited  disposition. 
However  painful  certain  situations,  they  will  not  give  up 
tmtil  exhaustion  sets  in.  Other  animals,  which  appear 
no  more  sensitive  in  many  ways  than  are  the  former, 
are  more  quiescent.  They  surrender  more  readily.  The 
difference  between  two  such  different  animals  may  of 
course  be  described  in  terms  of  pleasure  and  pain.  But 
this  difference  also  seems  equally  to  suggest  a  descrip- 
tion in  terms  of  feelings  of  restlessness  and  quiescence^ 
that  is  in  terms  of  nervous  predispositions  which  have  to 
doy  not  so  much  with  pleasure  and  pain,  as  with  being 
disposed  to  persevere  and  to  vary  activity.  Such  predis- 
positions are  themselves  matters  of  the  greatest  vari- 
ation both  in  ourselves  and  in  the  lower  animals.  Thus 
the  horse  can  be  broken  to  harness,  because,  in  certain 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE  315 

painful  situations  which  are  opposed  in  many  ways  to 
his  primitive  instincts,  he  erelong  gives  way.  The 
zebra  is  said  generally  to  escape  being  broken  to  har- 
ness, not  perhaps  because  he  finds  it  more  painful,  bnt 
because  he  actually  persists  longer  in  his  struggle.  In  all 
such  cases,  where  mere  persistence  in  a  certain  type  of 
action  characterises  an  animal,  and  leads  to  a  process  of 
trial  and  error  that  finally  results  in  adaptive  reactions, 
one  finds  a  factor  which,  for  a  time,  may  produce  appar- 
ently useless  activities ;  but  it  leads,  in  the  end,  to  the 
establishment  of  fitting  relations  to  the  environment. 
Now  this  factor,  this  peculiar  persistence,  belongs  to 
the  temperament  of  tJie  animal.  The  creature  that  has 
such  a  tendency  is  likely,  in  certain  situations,  to  form 
new  habits,  or  to  vary  his  old  habits,  in  an  adaptive  direc- 
tion. The  heightened  activities  that  lie  at  the  basis  of 
such  tendencies  are  primarily  activities  of  the  restless 
type.  They  may  be  pleasurable  activities,  or  they  may 
be  activities  that  involve  the  effort  to  escape  pain.  But 
they  are  not  to  be  uniquely  characterised  in  these  terms. 
It  is  best  to  characterise  them  as  the  activities  which 
lead  to  very  various  sorts  of  persistent  experiment,  that  is, 
to  repetitions  and  variations  of  such  acts  as  so  far  prove 
to  be  maladaptations. 

§  121.  To  turn  now  to  a  case  that  appears  in  the 
Hfe  of  human  beings.  A  problem  baffles  us.  It 
may  be  a  practical  problem.  It  may  be  a  matter  of 
voluntary  decision.       It    may    be,    in  the   main,   an  in- 


3i6  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

tellectual  problem.  The  environment  arouses  us  to 
action.  But  we  are  provided  with  no  present  adapta- 
tion. Our  efforts  to  meet  the  situation  prove  abortive 
and  disappointing.  What  shall  we  do  ?  One  in  vain 
endeavours,  at  such  times,  to  define  our  activities  in 
terms  merely  of  pleasure  and  pain.  Of  course  our 
present  failure  is  painful,  and  we  indeed  seek  to 
escape  from  this  suffering.  Of  course  the  thought 
of  our  thus  far  unattainable  ideal  arouses  new  desires 
to  attain  it.  But  there  are  various  ways  of  escap- 
ing from  such  pains.  The  effort  to  escape  by  fresh 
attempts  at  winning  the  goal  is  itself  painful.  It 
involves  renewed  disappointments.  Meanwhile,  if  we 
can  once  persuade  ourselves  to  give  up  the  strug- 
gle, the  pain  again  diminishes.  What  shall  determine 
whether  we  go  on  or  not .''  Whatever  does  determine  is 
something  that  lies  very  deep  in  our  nature,  that  varies 
from  person  to  person,  and  that  is  best  expressed  in 
consciousness  in  feelings  not  so  much  of  pain  and 
pleasure  as  of  restlessness  and  quiescence.  This 
deciding  factor  is  our  disposition  to  persevere  either  in 
repeating  with  variations  the  particular  acts  that  have  so 
far  proved  abortive^  or  in  searching  elsewhere  —  any- 
where— for  a  chance  solution  of  onr  problem.  If  this 
tendency  is  sufficiently  predominant,  we  continue  our 
efforts,  and  may  do  so  when  they  are  intensely  painful. 
The  result  may  be,  in  extreme  cases,  the  "  do-or-die " 
mood,  which  will  end  either  in  success,  and  in  a  novel 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF   MENTAL  INITIATIVE         317 

form  of  adaptation  to  the  environment,  or  else  in  our 
entire  destruction.  What  is  noticeable  about  this  per- 
sistent tendency,  when  it  appears,  is  that  it  is  a  very 
general  tendency.  It  is  the  expression  of  an  instinct, 
related  to  our  special  habits  and  instincts  as  the  gen- 
eral experiences  of  orientation  are  related  to  our  special 
experiences  of  the  place  of  a  point  in  space.  It  is 
aroused,  not  by  a  special  stimulation,  but  by  otir  finding 
that  we  are  in  the  position  of  having  undertaken  some- 
thijig,  and  of  having  thns  far  failed.  It  predisposes 
us  to  no  one  kind  of  action,  except  to  the  general  effort 
to  try  other  reactions  that  may  have  to  do  with  the 
task  which  we  have  begun.  Thus,  at  first,  it  merely 
seems  to  dispose  us  to  persist  in  maladaptations .  In 
case  of  kindher  fortune  this  tendency  may  be  very 
pleasurable  ;  but  it  appears  in  instances  that  cannot  be 
explained  in  terms  of  Professor  Baldwin's  heightened 
reactions  due  to  pleasure.  Nor  can  I  wholly  accept 
the  special  explanations  that  Professor  Baldwin  has 
offered  when  he  deals  with  the  presence  of  such  per- 
sistent activities  as  are,  for  the  moment,  painful.  But 
what  is  certain  is  that  onr  power  to  learn  decidedly  new 
variations  of  our  habits  zvill  usually  depeiid  upon  the 
presence  of  this  perseverance.  And  this  is  what  every 
moral  counsellor  of  resolution  practically  recognises. 
The  restless  men  may  prove  to  be  failures,  but  the  most 
successful  of  human  beings  are  the  men  ivho  are  in  some 
respects  prodigiously  restless.      These   persist  in    doing 


3l8  OUTLLVES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

what  just  now  need  not  be  done.  They  persist  in 
trials  despite  maladaptations.  Failure  stimulates  them. 
W/iat  the  cnviro7iment  cajmot  yet  teach  tJieiUy  they  teach 
the  environment  to  fitrjiish  them^  sooner  or  later^  in  a 
fonn  that  they  can  assimilate. 

§  122.  Now  my  thesis  is  that  the  apparently  spontane- 
ous variations  of  07ir  habits  which  appear  i7i  the  course 
of  lifcy  and  which  cannot  be  altogether  explained  as  due 
to  external  stimulation,  have  as  tJieir  principal  internal 
cause  this  restlessness.  The  restlessness  itself  appears 
sometimes  in  more  or  less  specific  forms.  But  it  is, 
on  the  whole,  something  very  much  more  general 
in  its  character,  than  is  any  one  of  the  specific  instincts 
upon  which  our  particular  habits  are  founded. 

The  thesis  that  the  restless  over-activity  of  the  organ- 
ism in  carrying  out  its  instinctive  processes,  or  in  seeking 
opportunity  for  the  establishment  of  new  functions,  is  the 
principal  condition  of  every  significant  form  of  mental 
ijzitiative,  may  seem  to  reduce  the  province  of  mental 
initiative  to  a  very  modest  and  narrow  range.  But  one 
has  only  to  observe  a  little  more  closely  our  life,  in 
order  to  see  that  the  range  thus  left  to  mental  initiative 
is,  as  a  fact,  very  large.  The  environment  and  the 
inherited  tendencies  of  an  organism  determine  at  any 
moment  specific  acts.  The  already  acquired  habits  of 
the  organism  determine  how  these  specific  acts  shall  be 
based  upon  former  actions.  So  far,  however,  the  envi- 
ronment appears  as  the  one  source  of  whatever  novel- 


THE   CONDITIONS   OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE  319 

ties  arc  to  appear  in  conduct ;  while  the  organism 
appears  disposed  to  persist  in  its  former  modes  of  con- 
duct, or  to  repeat  such  actions  as  its  ancestral  tenden- 
cies,  its  experience,  and  its  docility,  predetermine.  But 
if,  amongst  the  various  reactions  of  the  organism,  there 
are  such  as  take  the  form  of  a  restless  search  for  novelty 
of  environment  and  of  conduct^  then  novelties  will  appear 
ifi  the  actio7is  of  the  organism  —  novelties  which  are  duCy 
in  an  irnportant  measure^  to  the  tendencies  which  the  or- 
ga7iism  itself  has  inherited.  And  yet  the  resulting  acts 
will  be  not  mere  repetitions  of  ancestral  acts,  because 
they  will  have  resulted  from  novel  relations  to  an  envi- 
ronment. It  thus  comes  to  be  the  case  with  the  organ- 
ism and  with  the  mind,  as  it  is  with  the  emigrant  to 
a  foreign  country.  In  the  new  country  he  lives  a  new 
life,  and  not  the  life  of  his  ancestors.  This  result  is 
indeed  due  to  the  new  environment.  Yet  the  7teiv  e^ivi- 
rofiment  would  never  have  come  to  him  if  he  had  not 
wandered.  And  he  would  never  have  wandered  had 
it  not  been  the  result  of  a  restlessness  that  was  his 
own. 

§  123.  The  kinds  of  mental  initiative  which  can  result 
from  the  tendencies  now  summarised  may  next  be 
briefly  surveyed.  First  and  most  notable  in  the  devel- 
opments of  early  childhood  are  the  forms  of  novelty 
in  conduct,  and  of  accompanying  mental  initiative, 
which  are  displayed  in  the  plays  of  children.  As  Groos 
has  shown   in    his    monographs    on   the    Play   of  Ani- 


320  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

mals  and  The  Play  of  Ma7i,  the  value  of  play  lies 
especially  in  its  relation  to  the  future  activities  of 
the  adult  organism.  The  various  instincts  which  are 
manifested  in  play,  whether  in  animals  or  in  men,  are 
indeed  inherited  instincts.  But  like  all  the  higher  in- 
stincts in  vertebrate  animals,  they  are  inherited,  as  we 
have  seen,  in  an  imperfect  form ;  and  their  expression 
is  subject  to  much  individual  variation  in  consequence 
of  the  experience  acquired  by  the  individual  animal 
or  child  as  it  plays.  Just  because  the  play  activities 
are  carried  out  at  a  time  when  they  are  not  necessary 
to  the  preservation  of  the  organism,  they  receive  a  free 
and  manifold  development  for  which  there  would  be 
no  opportunity  if  the  same  activities  were  postponed 
until  the  necessities  of  adult  life  called  for  the  arts  in 
question.  The  kitten,  playing  with  sticks,  and  with 
leaves,  and  with  other  kittens,  gets  an  expertness  in 
pursuing  and  catching  prey  which  it  would  not  have 
time  to  acquire  if  it  waited  until  hunger  drove  it  to 
pursue  food.  Precisely  the  same  principle  holds  with 
regard  to  the  far  more  complicated  plays  of  children. 
I  have  heard  a  sea  captain  tell  how,  in  middle  life,  he 
saved  his  ship,  in  an  emergency,  through  a  device  of 
navigation  that  he  first  learned,  in  a  crude  form,  when, 
in  boyhood,  he  was  playing  with  his  sail-boat  in  his 
native  harbour.  The  same  general  principle  holds 
regarding  numerous  arts  which  children  acquire  in 
connection  with   early   and    spontaneous    plays.     Now 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE         32 1 

the  most  notable  characteristic  of  the  play  activity, 
whether  in  the  animal  or  in  the  child,  is  its  apparent 
spontaneity.  Yet  every  detail  of  a  playful  function 
can  of  course  be  interpreted  as  the  result  of  the  laws 
of  habit,  and  of  the  immediate  influence  of  the  envi- 
ronment upon  an  organism,  endowed  with  such  and 
such  instincts,  and  subject  to  such  and  such  stimuli. 
Wherein,  then,  lies  the  pecuHarly  spontaneous  charac- 
ter of  the  playful  activities  ?  Wherein  does  play  most 
differ  from  any  other  activity,  such  as  eating  or  as  run- 
ning from  an  enemy  ?  The  natural  answer  is  that  the 
playful  activity  appears  sp07itaneoics  because  it  is  carried 
out  when  there  is  no  necessity  of  carrying  it  out.  In 
other  words,  a  playful  activity  is  not  an  adaptation  to 
the  environment  such  as  the  momentary  conditions 
imperatively  call  for.  But  to  say  this  is  to  admit  that 
the  spontaneous  aspect  of  a  playful  function  lies  es- 
pecially in  the-  restless  overflow  of  activities  that  the 
playful  orgajiism  shows.  It  seems  to  us,  the  specta- 
tors, as  if  the  world  did  not  require  the  child  to  play. 
Yet  after  all  the  child's  play  is  like  any  other  action, 
—  a  response  to  the  environment,  a  response  involving 
sensitiveness  and  docility,  and  dependent  upon  previous 
habits.  Why  do  we  make  this  comment  on  the  appar- 
ent needlessness  of  the  play  }  Because  we  recognise  in 
the  playful  activities  precisely  the  character  of  restless 
overflow,  a  character  which  we  recognise,  in  other 
forms,  in  the  persevering  struggles  of  the  imprisoned 

Y 


322  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

animal  to  escape,  and  in  the  equally  persevering  efforts 
of  the  inventor  or  of  the  reformer  to  solve  the  problems 
of  his  art  or  of  his  age. 

In  the  case  of  the  play  of  childhood  we  have,  in 
fact,  a  collection  of  functions  whose  value  lies  not  in 
the  immediate  adjustments  to  the  environment  then  car- 
ried out,  but  in  what  we  might  call  tJie  prophetic  iyn- 
portance  of  the  activities  in  question.  These  are 
not  only  repetitions  of  ancestral  activities,  but  they 
are  in  part  (although  indeed  not  altogether)  an  in- 
dication and  foreshadowing  of  functions  which  are 
afterward  to  become  important.  And  the  playful 
functions  acquire  such  importance  in  the  child's  life, 
not  merely  because  the  environment  suggests  them, 
and  not  merely  because  the  child's  special  instincts 
and  habits  make  the  plays  at  the  moment  fascinating, 
but  because  the  child' s  restless  eagerness,  —  his  insistence 
upon  trying  over  and  over  the  playful  activity  until  it 
wholly  satisfies  his  own  ideals,  —  because,  I  say,  these 
tendencies  of  the  child  keep  Jiim  at  play  with  an  ear- 
nestness which  expresses  his  own  initiative.  Conse- 
quently, as  any  close  observer  of  childhood  knows, 
children  play,  not  merely  because  it  pleases  them,  but 
because  they  must  play.  They  often  play  to  the  point 
of  exhaustion.  They  play,  on  occasion,  distinctly  pain- 
ful, as  well  as,  on  occasion,  agreeable  games.  Their 
playful  activities  may  sometimes  possess  all  the  per- 
sistence  of   the    '"tropisms"   that    Loeb   has  observed 


THE   CONDITIONS  OF    MENTAL   INITIATIVE  323 

in  lower  organisms.  These  considerations  hold  true 
not  only  of  many  social,  but  of  some  solitary  games. 
The  child  may  grow  much  overexcited  in  the  pursuit 
of  a  self-chosen  play  ideal,  even  when  he  has  no  com- 
rade to  urge  him  to  emulation.  He  may  weep  or 
rage  over  a  failure  to  accomplish  one  of  his  own 
playful  designs.  He  may  insist  upon  one  of  his 
playful  ideas  with  a  seriousness  and  intensity  that 
may  weary  all  his  family  and  friends.  If  such  phe- 
nomena occasionally  seem  pathological,  their  normal 
equivalents  are  of  the  utmost  importance  in  the  life 
of  every  intelligent  child.  And  my  present  insistence 
is  upon  the  thought  that  /;/  tJiis  eagerness,  in  this 
perseverance,  ajid  in  the  restlessness  with  zvJiich  the 
whole  playfnl  activity  is  pnrsned,  lies  the  ifiitiative 
which  the  child  may  himself  be  said  to  contribute 
toward  the  organisation  of  his  playfnl  functions. 

This  initiative  keeps  him  busy  in  perfecting  old 
plays,  or  in  searching  for  new  ones.  It  makes  him 
endure  the  criticisms  of  playfellows,  and  submit  to 
the  often  severe  discipline  which  the  social  forms  of 
play  early  involve  amongst  the  groups  of  children 
concerned.  This  initiative  makes  of  the  child  very 
frequently  a  specialist  in  some  form  of  childish  art, 
or  of  amateur  collection.  And  what  such  initiative 
may  accomplish  for  the  organisation  of  the  child's 
mental  life,  becomes  manifest  when  we  for  a  moment 
consider  the  great  variety  of  arts  and  ideas  that  chil- 


324  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

dren  teach  themselves  through  play.  The  various 
types  of  self-consciousness,  such  as  appear  durmg  the 
dramatic  impersonations  of  early  childhood ;  the  vari- 
ous arts,  such  as  drawing,  manual  training,  sleight 
of  hand,  skill  with  boats,  or  with  other  objects  of  early 
play  —  these,  together  with  a  knowledge  of  nature, 
and  sometimes  a  certain  literary  inventiveness,  are  a 
few  of  the  mental  treasures  that  childhood  may  win 
from  its  various  games.  Such  are  some  of  the  forms 
in  which  what  is  often  well  called  the  "  originality " 
of  a  child  may  display  itself.  One  sees,  then,  that 
in  the  mere  persistence  of  the  playful  child  one  has  a 
factor  whose  value  for  mental  initiative  it  is  ha7'd  to 
overestimate. 

§  124.  Second,  amongst  the  regions  where  mental 
initiative  is  displayed,  we  may  name  the  activities  of 
youth  as  they  appear  at  the  point  where  youthful 
productivity  is  most  manifest  and  important.  If  we 
ask  why  an  original  genius  produces  his  first  great 
work,  or  why  a  man  of  talent  first  discovers  his 
mission,  or  why  a  man  of  mediocrity  wins  that  control 
over  his  powers  which  makes  him  the  successful  busi- 
ness man  or  professional  person,  our  answer,  so  far 
as  we  can  give  it  at  all,  must  of  course  take  account, 
in  large  measure,  of  features  of  which  we  have  already 
spoken  when  we  discussed  sensitiveness  and  docility. 
What  a  man  can  do,  depends  upon  what  he  can  ob- 
serve, upon  what  he  can  feel,  and  upon  what  he  can 


THE  CONDITIONS   OF   MENTAL   INITIATIVE  325 

learn  as  his  instincts  are  trained.  And  when  thus  re- 
garded, a  man  seems  to  be  the  creature  of  his  environ- 
ment. But  there  is  one  thing  that  his  environmejit  ca^mot 
determine.  Nor  yet  can  his  special  instincts  —  for  in- 
stance, the  instincts  that  prepare  him  to  be  a  painter 
or  a  poet  or  a  politician  or  a  good  salesman  —  deter- 
mine whether  or  no  this  one  thing  shall  be  present. 
This  one  thing  is  the  power  of  the  organism  to  persist 
in  seeking  for  new  adjnstme?tts,  whether  the  enviro7i- 
ment  at  first  suggests  them  or  not,  to  persist  i7i  strug- 
gling toward  its  zvholly  tmkjiozvn  goal,  whether  there 
is  any  apparent  opportunity  for  reaching  such  a  goal 
or  not.  Snch  persistence  is  the  one  initiative  that  the 
organism  can  offer  to  the  world.  It  appears,  in  the 
individual  case,  in  the  form  of  passio7iate  interests  in 
apparently  useless  activities.  Such  passionate  interests 
may  in  some  cases  prove  to  be  as  decidedly  injurious 
as  they  may  in  other  cases  be  useful.  Thus  a  passion- 
ate interest  in  gambling  may  lead  straight  to  destruc- 
tion. But  the  gambler's  interests,  where  they  appear, 
involve  in  their  own  way  a  sort  of  initiative  which, 
destructive  though  it  proves,  has,  in  common  with  the 
nobler  devotions,  exactly  the  feature  that  makes  all 
such  devotion  of  such  critical  importance  to  the  or- 
ganism and  to  the  mind.  Without  such  insistent 
interests,  restless  in  their  manifestations,  persevering 
in  their  tendencies  to  repeat  over  and  over,  and  to 
vary,  fascinating  activities,  the  organism  and  the  mind 


326  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

< 
remain  the  prey  of  the  environment^  With  such  inter- 
ests mental  initiative  becomes  prominent.  What  a 
man  is  to  learn  still  depends  upon  experience  and 
opportunity  ;  but  the  restlessly  active  man  regards  his 
world  as  destined  to  express  his  purpose.  He  moulds 
his  environment  accordingly.  And  in  the  long  run 
his  life  thus  becomes  not  only  a  bit  of  the  world's 
life,  but  his  own  life. 

§  125.  A  third  class  of  illustrations  of  this  sort  of 
significance  which  persistent  restlessness  may  possess 
we  find,  on  the  social  side  of  our  activities,  in  a  tendency 
which  we  already  mentioned,  in  an  earlier  chapter,  in 
describing  the  bases  of  our  social  docility.  We  there 
pointed  out  that,  as  a  social  being,(  man"  is  strongly  dis- 
posed, on  the  one  hand,  to  imitate'  his  fellows,  on  the 
other  hand  to  set  himself  in  opposition  to  them  —  to 
lay  stress  upon  the  social  contrast  between  his  environ- 
ment and  himself.  Now  the  persistent  tendency  to  estab- 
lish a  contrast  between  one's  social  activities  a7id  those  of 
one' s  fellows  lies  at  the  root  of  the  social  te^idency  called 
Individualism.  \  Individualism  may  of  course  appear  in 
unhealthy  forms.  But  where  it  is  rightly  connected 
with  social  docility,  it  forms  the  most  important  aspect 
of  what  may  be  called  our  Social  Initiative.  Now  our 
social  initiative  depends  upon  constantly  using  social 
arts,  upon  our  continually  employing  socially  acquired 
habits.  On  the  other  hand,  the  wisely  persistent, 
the    restless    although    rational    desire    to   be,    as   we 


f 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF   MENTAL  INITIATIVE         327 

say,  "ourselves,"  to  "call  our  souls  our  own,"  this  is 
tJie  contimial  mother  of  invention  in  all  our  social  activi- 
ties. This  it  is  which  inspires  repartee,  which  enlivens 
conversation,  which,  in  childhood,  leads  to  our  endless 
questions,  and  which,  in  later  life,  makes  us  considerate 
and  thoughtful  as  to  our  answers.  This  it  is  which  pro- 
vides the  hostess  with  her  devices  for  entertainment,  the 
teacher  with  his  plans  to  introduce  novelty  into  school 
life,  the  literary  man  with  designs  for  his  new  works. 
The  enormously  complicated  mental  processes  involved 
in  such  successful  activities  are  all  of  them  subject 
to  the  laws  of  habit  and  of  sensitiveness.  They  are 
impossible  unless  the  environment  continually  suggests, 
and  unless  habit  and  training  constantly  support,  the 
activities  and  the  ideas  of  which  inventive  minds  make 
use.  J  But  my  present  interest  lies  in  pointing  out  that 
unless  this  eagerness  for  the  diversification  of  social  life^ 
this  insistence  iLpon  individualistic  desires^  were  persist- 
ently present,  Jiabit  and  environment  would  in  vain 
provide  the  materials  for  inventiveftess.  Social  inven- 
tiveness depends  upon  individualistic  restlessness.  The 
latter,  in  its  turn,  depends  upon  vital  activities  that  are 
as  elemental  as  the  "  tropisms  "  of  the  organisms  upon 
which  Loeb  experimented.  The  people  who  have  such 
vitality  of  concern  in  social  success,  and  who  have  such 
an  elemental  love  of  social  contrasts,  are  the  initiators. 
If  you  find  a  whole  nation  consisting  largely  of  such 
persons,  you  stand  in  presence  of  the  ancient   Greeks 


328  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

at  their  best.  Individualism  always  depends  upon  quite 
elemental  tendencies,  —  upon  dispositions  to  pursue 
social  contrast-effects  with  eagerness,  even  where  such 
experiences  possess,  at  the  moment  of  pursuit,  com- 
paratively little  adaptive  value.  In  short,  ''the  king- 
dom of  heaven  is  taken  by  violence." 

§  126.  A  final  series  of  illustrations  of  the  conditions 
of  mental  initiative  we  have  furnished  to  us  by  the 
ordmary  activities  of  our  attentive  fiinctioiis.  It  has 
been  common,  in  recent  psychology,  to  insist  upon  the 
active  attention  as  a  factor  of  great  significance  for  the 
understanding  of  the  apparently  spontaneous  processes 
of  consciousness.  The  school  of  Wundt  have  used  the 
name  "apperception"  to  signify,  not  so  much  the 
assimilative  process  upon  which  Herbart  laid  stress  when 
he  used  that  name,  as  the  process  by  which,  from  mo- 
ment to  moment,  our  attentive  consciousness  moulds  its 
own  material  in  accordance  with  intellectual  ideals,  and 
influences  the  processes  of  association,  so  that  these 
shall  assume  a  definitely  significant  and  thoughtful 
form.  It  has  been  objected  to  the  partisans  of  Wundt 
that  the  term  ''apperception,"  as  thus  used,  seems  to 
signify  a  factor  in  mental  life  which  can  be  explained 
neither  in  terms  of  what  we  have  called  sensitiveness, 
nor  in  terms  of  the  law  of  habit.  It  has  also  been 
objected  that  the  conception  of  a  conscious  process,  en- 
gaged in  influencing  its  own  states,  is  a  conception 
which  confuses  together  metaphysical  and  psychological 

/ 


THE  CONDITIONS  OF   MENTAL  INITIATIVE  329 

motives.  The  psychologist,  engaged  as  he  is,  not  in 
studying  how  Reason  forms  the  world,  but  in  observing 
and  red^^cing  to  rule  the  mere  phenomena  of  human 
mental  life  as  they  occur,  is  not  interested,  it  has  been 
asserted,  in  a  power  whose  influence  upon  mental  phe- 
nomena seems  t,o  be  of  so  ambiguous  a  character  as  is 
that  which  the  Wundtian  "apperception  "  possesses. 

It  is  far  from  my  present  purpose  to  enter  into  the 
subtle  controversies  tb  which  this  conception  of  Wundt's 
has  given  rise.  This  is  the  place  neither  to  expound 
nor  to  estimate  Wundt's  theory.  But  it  does  here  con- 
cern us  to  point  out  that  wJiat  occiws  in  mind  whenever 
we  are  actively  attentive  is  attended  with  a  feeling  of 
restlessness,  which  makes  us  dissatisfied  with  all  those 
associative  processes  that  do  not  tend  to  further  our  cur- 
rent intellectual  interests.  On  the  other  hand,  the  cere- 
bral processes  that  accompany  active  attention  are 
certainly  such  as  tend  to  inhibit  many  associative 
processes  that  would,  if  free,  hiiider  our  current  intel- 
lectual interests.  Meanwhile,  our  active  attention  itself 
is  always  the  expression  of  interests  whicJi  possess  the 
same  elemental  character  that  we  have  all  along  been 
illustrating  in  the  foregoing  paragraphs.  The  attentive 
inventor  is  eager  about  the  beautiful  things  that  he 
thinks  of  while  he  is  trying  to  invent.  The  attentive 
hostess  is  eager  about  social  success.  The  attentive 
caged  animal  is  eager  about  whatever  suggests  a  way 
^  of  escape.     In  brief,  zvhoever  is  persistently  attentive  is 


330  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

expressing  an  attitude  of  the  07'ganisni  whicJi  has  the  es- 
sential eJiaractcr  of  the  now  frequently  mentioned  ^^  trop- 
isnis "  of  the  animals  of  Loeb's  experiments.  Active 
attention  does  not  appear  in  our  life  as  in  any  sense  a 
supernatural,  or  disembodied  force.  It  appears  as  an 
eagerness  to  get  into  some  kind  of  relation  to  objects  or  to 
ideas,  —  an  eagerness  which  is  accompanied  with  restless 
feelings,  and  which  while  in  itself  not  directly  creative, 
is  continually  selective.  The  organic  conditions  which 
accompany  active  attention  tend  toward  the  persistent 
bringing  before  consciousness  of  certain  ideas  and  com- 
binations of  ideas,  and  to  the  equally  persistent  inhibi- 
tion of  other  ideas  and  combinations  of  ideas.  The 
result  of  the  continued  influence  of  such  a  process  is 
the  C07tsta7it  moulding  of  our  relations  to  our  e7ivironm,ent 
and  of  our  habits,  in  such  wise  that  certain  mefital  com- 
bifzations  appear,  which  would  otherwise  have  been 
impossible.  Thus  it  is  that  our  active  attention  contin- 
ually exemplifies,  even  in  the  ordinary  processes  of 
waking  life,  mental  initiative.  But  it  does  so  in  no  other 
way  than  in  the  way  already  exemplified  when  we  spoke 
of  the  play  of  children,  of  the  constructive  activities  of 
youth,  and  of  the  effectiveness  of  individualism. 

§  127.  If  the  foregoing  discussion  is  at  all  well 
founded,  we  now  have  before  us  the  bases  upon  which 
the  natural  history  of  all  "  self -activity "  must  be 
founded.  Apart  from  the  effects  of  experience,  apart 
from  the  influence  of  special  instincts  and  of  training, 


THE   CONDITIONS  IN   MENTAL   INITIATIVE  33  I 

wJiat  may  be  called  the  self -activity  of  aii  individual 
depends  upon  certain  general  instincts^  —  instincts  which 
manifest  themselves  in  a  form  of  a  restless  tendency 
to  a  certaijt  overwealth  of  persistent  activities.  These 
activities  are  pursued  at  times  when  the  results  are 
not  immediately  adaptive.  All  such  activities  espe- 
cially involve  a  tendency  to  alter,  in  a  relatively  spon- 
taneous way,  our  own  relations  to  our  environment.  In 
the  simplest  form  they  appear  as  efforts  towards  a  local 
change  of  environment.  In  their  highest  and  subtlest 
form  they  take  shape  from  fnoment  to  moment  in  the 
processes  of  our  active  attention.  All  such  activities  are 
characterised  by  the  feeling  of  restlessness.  In  their 
physical  aspect  they  are  examples  of  tJie  "  tropisms  "  of 
Loeb,  They  may  be  abnormal  and  dangerous.  In  their 
normal  form  they  work  to  produce  a  continual  and  rela- 
tively spontaneous  modification  of  our  existing  habits. 
They  cannot  be  referred  altogether  to  that  heightened 
intensity  of  organic  processes  which  is  due  to  pleasur- 
able stimuli.  For  in  general,  we  have  found  reason  to 
believe  that  the  feeli7ig  of  restlessness  is  decidedly  ifide- 
pendent  of  the  feeling  of  pleasure.  In  the  most  impor- 
tant part  of  our  activities  we  are  eager  not  for  pleasure, 
but  for  rationally  satisfactory  change  both  of  our  en- 
vironment and  of  our  conduct.  Upofi  such  rational 
eagerness  is  based  all  that  is  most  cJiaracteristic  of  our 
mental  initiative. 

The  practical  consequence  is   obvious.     Nothing   is 


332  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

more  significant  for  mental  life  than  the  cultivation  of 
strenuous  activity.  Every  sign  of  such  a  tendency 
should  be  encouraged  by  a  teacher.  It  is  equally  true 
that  every  effort  should  be  made  not  to  confuse  such 
activities  with  those  which  merely  give  a  child  pleasure. 
The  purpose  of  a  teacher  is  not  merely  to  aid  a  child 
"  to  do  what  he  likes  to  do."  The  purpose  of  the 
teacher  is  to  assist  the  child  to  become  eager  to  do  some- 
tJiing  that  is  in  itself  of  a  rationally  significant  tendency. 
That  this  eagerness  is  pleasant,  is  indeed  often  the 
case.  But  the  pleasure  is  by-play.  The  restless  eager- 
ness is  the  essential.  And  it  is  such  eagerness  that 
accompanies  us  into  later  life,  wherein  we  may  often 
be  deeply  interested  in  life,  even  when  we  find  only 
very  moderate  pleasure  in  it.  As  Schiller  states  the 
case,  "Passion  flees,  but  love  must  remain."  And  in 
this  chapter  we  have  been  discussing  that  elemental 
love  of  rational  novelty  upon  which  all  mental  initiative 
depends. 


CHAPTER   XIV 

Certain    Varieties    of    Emotional    and    Intellec- 
tual Life 

§  128.  Our  general  survey  of  the  mental  processes 
has  not  been  determined  by  the  usual  division  of 
mental  life  into  Feeling,  Intellect,  and  Will.  But  now 
that  our  survey  of  the  conditions  of  Sensitiveness, 
Docility,  and  Initiative  has  been  completed,  we  may, 
in  a  practical  review  of  some  of  the  varieties  and 
defects  of  mental  Hfe,  as  they  are  likely  to  come 
under  the  observation  of  the  teacher,  return,  for  the 
moment,  to  the  ordinary  classification.  While  all  our 
mental  Hfe  illustrates  sensitiveness  and  docility,  and 
while  all  of  it  is  subject  to  the  conditions  upon  which 
we  have  found  that  mental  initiative  may  depend, 
some  of  our  mental  life  is  most  prominently  charac- 
terised by  the  presence  of  feehngs,  some  of  it  makes 
more  prominent  to  our  consciousness  our  power  to 
know  about  the  world,  while  some  of  it  especially 
brings  to  light  the  organisation  of  our  outwardly 
observable  conduct.  That  portion  of  our  mental  life 
which  was  most  characterised  by  the  presence  of  feel- 
ing,  constitutes   the   emotions.      That   portion    of   our 

333 


334  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

mental  life  in  which  our  consciousness  is  most  con- 
cerned with  what  we  know,  constitutes  what  we 
usually  call  our  intellect.  That  portion  of  our 
mental  life  in  which  conduct  consciously  predomi- 
nates is  that  of  which  we  are  chiefly  reminded  when 
we  ordinarily  hear  the  word  ''Will"  used.  So  far  as 
this  latter  word  is  concerned,  we  have  indeed  already 
shown  that  the  term  "  Will "  refers  rather  to  the  whole 
significance  of  our  conscious  life,  viewed  as  our  con- 
scious response  to  our  environment,  or  as  our  men- 
tal attitude  toward  our  world ;  and  that  the  word 
"Will"  is  of  little  use,  as  a  purely  psychological  term, 
in  the  classification  of  mental  life.  The  same  is  true, 
in  a  less  degree,  regarding  the  word  "  Intellect."  This 
term  emphasises  a  certain  significant  aspect  of  our 
mental  life,  namely  our  power  to  have  knowledge  of 
the  world.  But  as  soon  as  one  begins  to  study  the 
natural  history  of  the  intellect,  this  significant  aspect 
loses  its  apparent  separateness ;  and  we  find  ourselves 
dealing  with  special  functions  and  processes,  such 
as  those  which  we  have  illustrated  under  the  head  of 
sensitiveness  and  docility.  Even  the  term  "  Emotion  " 
suggests,  at  first,  to  our  minds,  rather  the  moral  or 
aesthetic  significance  of  the  objects  that  we  love  and 
hate,  than  the  natural  history  of  the  emotional  pro- 
cesses. In  consequence,  our  purely  psychological  study 
has  so  far  prospered  all  the  better  through  keeping 
somewhat  in  the  background   the  terms  here  in  ques- 


VARIEriES  OF  EMOTION  AND   INTELLECT  335 

tion,  although  we  have  by  no  means  attempted  wholly 
to  avoid  their  use.  But  the  practical  student  of 
Mind  is  frequently  concerned  with  asking  what  sort 
of  will  or  intellect  or  emotion  he  is  dealing  with  in  a 
given  case  before  him.  And  it  is  now  our  purpose 
to  connect  the  foregoing  general  exposition  with  a 
few  questions  such  as  the  practical  student  of  mental 
life  may  ask  concerning  the  processes  and  variations 
of  the  emotions,  of  the  intellect,  and  of  the  will.  In 
the  present  chapter  we  shall  first  briefly  deal  with 
some  of  the  phenomena  of  the  emotions;  and  shall 
point  out  some  of  the  variations  and  abnormities  to 
which  the  emotional  life  may  be  subject.  We  shall 
then  abstract  that  aspect  of  our  mental  life  which  we 
commonly  have  in  view  in  making  use  of  the  term 
**  Intellect,"  and  shall  speak  of  the  practical  study  and 
of  a  few  of  the  abnormities  of  intellectual  life.  Our 
next  and  concluding  chapter  shall  be  devoted  to  a 
brief  review  of  the  processes  usually  emphasised  when, 
one  speaks  of  the  will. 

§  129.  Our  feelings  do  not  appear  in  our  actual 
consciousness  in  simple  and  isolated  forms  as  mere 
pleasures,  pains,  and  experiences  of  restlessness  or  of 
quiescence.  In  our  concrete  consciousness,  we  pos- 
sess what  are  called  by  the  general  term  "  Emotions." 
Amongst  these  there  are  some,  the  relatively  calm 
and  gentle  emotions,  for  which  the  word  "Moods"  has 
been  proposed.     In  addition  there  are  the  more  vehe- 


336  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

ment  and  intense  emotions,  such  as  anger,  fear,  strong 
love,  and  the  like.  The  moods  and  the  emotions 
have  in  common  this  feature,  that,  when  we  are  con- 
scious of  them,  we  are  aware,  not  only  of  feelings 
but  of  images,  general  ideas,  thoughts,  and  external 
objects.  And  the  feelings  that  are  present  seem 
either  to  colour  these  ideal  states  or  to  give  value 
to  their  external  objects.  The  moods  and  the  emo- 
tions differ,  however,  very  widely,  both  in  intensity 
and  in  endurance.  It  is  no  part  of  our  present  pur- 
pose to  present  any  catalogue  of  the  various  moods 
and  more  vehement  emotions,  or  to  describe  them  in 
any  detail.  We  can  mention,  purely  by  way  of  illus- 
tration, only  one  or  two  typical  instances.  Let  us 
ijtake,  for  the  first,  the  emotion  of  grief.  Here  feelings 
of  a  painful  character,  accompanied  by  states  in  which 
either  restlessness  or  quiescence  may  predominate,  give 
character  to  the  emotion.  But  all  these  feelings  are 
centred  about  certain  objects  and  ideas.  Without 
these  objects  and  ideas,  the  emotion  of  grief  would 
have  no  meaning.  We  grieve  over  the  loss  of  a 
beloved  object.  Or  again,  let  us  take  the  widely 
contrasting  gentle  emotion,  or  mood,  called  Curiosity. 
Here  certain  feelings  of  restlessness,  and  of  pleasure 
or  slight  pain,  accompany  and  colour  ideas  whose 
relation  to  our  attention,  and  to  our  processes  of  in- 
tellectual inquiry,  is  characteristic  of  the  whole  emo- 
tional  state.     Or  finally,  let   us   take   the   emotion   of 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION  AND   INTELLECT  337 

Anger.  Here  the  central  idea  is  of  some  object  that 
seems  to  be  doing  us  an  injury,  while  the  accompanying 
feelings  involve  intense  pain,  sometimes  also  a  certain 
pleasure,  and  restlessness,  in  very  characteristic  ways. 

A  glance  at  any  such  emotion  shows  the  enormous  :  •  "^  ^^^^ 
complexity  of  the  conditions  upon  which  it  depends.  '-^-<r^ 
As  soon  as,    following  certain    psychological   interests  . 

previously  discussed,  we  proceed  to  substitute  for  the  ' 

emotion   in  question  an    analysed    mental   state,    or   a       ^-^^^^ 
series  of   such  analysed  mental  states,  we  find  that  a  ~'^  •^^^^-A^fC^ 
consciousness  of  certain  bodily  activities,  a  very  complex  /  ^J^M/\M 
consciousness    of   our   relation    to  objects,  and   a  very  ~.ii^Jj|J^ 
complex  collection  of  more  elementary  feelings,  come        /         (^ 
to  take  the  place  of  the  original  emotion,  which  here-        . ,/  .... 
upon   appears   as    an    enormously   complicated    mental 
condition.     The  angry  man    has  a  swift  succession  of 
thoughts  and  beliefs  regarding  the  object  of  his  anger. 
He    assumes   a    rapid    succession    of    bodily   attitudes 
toward    it.     He  has  very  numerous  states  of    restless- 
ness,   of  pain,  and  even  in  some  cases  of  pleasure  as 
he   faces  the   object.     Our   present  purpose,  however, 
lies  not  in  the  analysis  of  all  these  complications,  but 
in    the   briefest   possible   indication    of    the   nature   of 
the  conditions  upon  which  our  emotional  life  depends. 

§  130.  In  recent  literature,  much  attention  has 
been  called  to  the  fact  that,  whatever  the  other  sources 
may  be  of  the  feelings  that  accompany  our  more  com- 
plicated   emotions,    much    depends    for   our   emotional 


-is  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

life  upon  the  fact  that  each  emotion  has  certain  char- 
acteristic   bodily   expressions.      The    movements    that 
we   make,    the   instinctive   or  voluntary  expressive   re- 
actions which  go  on  when  we  are  under  the  influence 
of  an  emotion,  are  in  well-known  ways   characteristic 
of  the  emotion.     For  thus  we  can  judge  from  without 
whether   a    man   is    angry,    afraid,    loving,    etc.      Now 
as     we    already     know,     our     consciousness     is     con- 
stantly  affected    by   our    sensory    experience    of    our 
^  movements,  and  of  the  organic  conditions  that  accom- 
.  ^  pany    these   movements.     If   our  emotions   have  char- 
!^acteristic  motor  and  organic  expression,  it  follows  that 
"^x  our  emotional  consciousness  will  itself  be  affected   by 
""^"^^.the,^  expressive  movements,  and  by  the  accompanying 
"organic  states ;  and  thus  much  of  our  conscious  feeling 
^^^^s  actually  secondary  to  what  is  called  the  expressio7i  of> 
\K^^ie  feeling.     Thus  our  griefs  alter  their  emotional  tone 
'  ^according  to  the  sort  of  external  expression  Jixat^diajlCfiS. ' 
^o   be  forcing   itself   upon  us.     Tearless   grief   is   one 
thing,  tearful  grief  another ;   and  no  doubt  an  impor- 
„  ---iant  part  of  the  inner  attitude  of  mind  which  constitutes 
^     the  grief  is  determined  by  our  very  sensory  conscious- 
ness of  how  we  are  expressing  ourselves.     This  manner 
J      of  expression  is  largely  determined  by  our  inherited  in- 
^i  ^  stincts  and  acquired    habits.     Reacting  to  a  given  en- 
■ '"  vironment  in  a  given  way,  we  then  feel  our  own  reaction. 
In  telling  about  the  tone  of  one's  own  emotions  one 
often  has  to  say,  "My  heart  stood  still,"  or  "I  felt  a 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND   INTELLECr  339 

choking  in  my  throat,"  or  "  I  found  myself  gasping." 

The  poets  are  accustomed  thus  to  remind  us  of  emo-  D 

tional  tones  by  mentionmg  their  manner  of  expression, , , 

and  by  so  suggesting  how  this  manner  of  expression  it-  K^ 

self  feels  to  one  who  finds    himself    giving  way  to  it. 

Thus  Bayard  Taylor  tells  how,  as  the  soldiers  in  the 

Sebastopol  trenches  sang  "Annie  Laurie,"  "something 

upon   the   soldiers'    cheeks   washed   out   the  stains   of  ^\J^^ 

powder."     This  importance  of  the  instinctive  or  habit-  :^.(Ji^^vA/; 

ual   expressive  movement  as  a  primary  reaction   to   a    ^"-y^-^^"^^ 

ffiven    environment  —  t/ie   emotion    beins:   the   secojidarv  ]  ^■-y\^  ^^ 

^  — ^ ^  ^   \.^\A<^ 

sensory  experience  of  this  reaction  —  has  been    of   late  ^^j^\j  J 

especially  insisted  upon  by  Professor  James.  ^^^^T  c  ^  -t 

Meanwhile,  however,  there  can  be  no  doubt  that,  in   iy^.A/\^f 
addition  to  all  states  of  our  organs  of  external  and  of  er..C^. 
internal  bodily  sense,  purely  central  nervous  cojtditions  X:r\A!MMA 
have   much    to   do    with    the  tone  and  intefisity  of  our  'C-^^i'*-*^ 
emotions.      Brain-fatigue  of  all  degrees,  from  the  light- 
est to  the  gravest,  is  likely  to  show  itself   in    altered   '    '"^       ^ 
emotional  tones,  even  where  it  gives  few  other  easily 
marked  signs  of  its  presence.     There  are  known  dis- '  ^  'i  \I  5] 
eases  of  the  brain  (such  as  the  extreme  forms  of  ner-  .  '"/ 

vous  exhaustion  known  as  Melancholia  and  Mania)  whose 
principal  symptoms  are  profound  alterations  of  emo- 
tional tone.  The  phenomena  of  these  disorders,  as  well 
as  other  known  facts,  have  been  regarded  by  some  as 
indicating  that  the  current  conditions  of  the  blood  sup- 
ply in  the  brain  are  direct  causes  of  our  emotional  states. 


340  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

§  131.  The  practical  aspect  of  the  life  of  the  feel- 
ings, and  in  particular  of  the  masses  of  feeling  and 
ideas  called  the  emotions,  is  of  great  importance. 
Whatev'Cr  their  precise  physiological  explanation  may 
be,  we  are  in  any  case  warranted  in  saying  that  in  the 
feelings,  and  in  their  expressive  signs,  we  have  in  gen- 
eral an  especially  useful  index  of  the  ciirrcnt  state  of  the 
ne}'voiis  centres  viewed  as  a  whole.  The  state  of  a  man's 
present  feelings  may  indeed,  at  first  sight,  throw  com- 
paratively little  light  on  his  character  or  on  his 
experience,  except  where  one  already  knows  what 
opportunities  he  has  had  to  cultivate  or  to  learn  to  con- 
trol just  these  feelings.  ,  It  is  notoxiously  unfair  to 
judge  any  man  by  his  momentary  mood..  The  now 
violently  angry  man  may  be,  in  general,  a  person  of 
amiable  self-control.  Especially  absurd,  as  well  as  un- 
charitable, is,  therefore,  the  habit  of  those  who  regard  a 
character  as  best  to  be  read  by  considering  the  most 
passionate  or  otherwise  marked  emotional  excesses,  or 
the  weakest  or  most  foolish  moods  which  are  known  to 
occur  in  the  life  of  its  possessor.  So  to  judge  is  to  com- 
mit what  may  be  called  the  scandalmonger's  fallacy. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  for  a  good  observer,  an  emo- 
tional reaction,  regarded  with  due  reference  to  its  exter- 
nal causes,  does  tend  to  indicate  the  passing  general 
nervous  state  in  a  way  which  is  of  great  value  for  psy- 
chological diagnosis.  Nervous  exhaustion,  mental  over- 
strain, show  themselves  (as  just  pointed  out)  first  of  all 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND    INTELLECT  34 1 

in  emotional  variability.  This  the  popular  mind  gener- 
ally recognises.  What  is  not  popularly  so  well  recog- 
nised is  the  fact  that  this  emotional  variability  of 
overstrain  is  not  by  any  means  always  equivalent  to  the 
tendency  to  ''  black  moods  "  or  to  ill-temper,  but  may 
show  itself  —  and  in  grave  forms,  too  —  in  emotions  of 
a  relatively  cheerful  or  benign  seeming.  The  sufferer 
from  nervous  overstrain  may  have  hours,  or  even  peri- 
ods, of  abnormal  vivacity,  when  his  friends,  remember- 
ing his  former  fits  of  gloom,  feel  that  now  he  is  surely 
restored  to  himself,  since  he  is  so  ambitious  and  ani- 
mated. But  t/te  symptomatic  value  of  an  emotional 
state  lies  ratJier  i^i  the  degree  of  its  variation  from  the 
nor'tnal  mean  of  the  individual  temperament  than  in  its 
agreeable  or  disagreeable  seeming. 

If   emotional   variability  is   often  a  useful   index   of  MZsA^'^ 
nervous  overstrain,  the  permanent  commoji  quality  at  theSj/y*^^^ 
basis  of  any  man's  normal  emotions,  if  once  made  out,  is'\\i^^^ 
indeed  also  aji  i7nporta7it  index  as  to  the  fimdamental  • 
type  of  his  nervous  temperament.     By  this  one  does  not 
always    mean    his  predominant   emotions,   which    may 
be  made  predominant  merely  by  his  business  or  his 
fortune.    One  means  something  deeper.    The  emotional 
u7idertoney  as  one  may  call  it,  of  any  given  individual,  is 
always  one  of  the  most  interesting  features  of  his  char- 
acter.    It   must   be  made  out   by  observing   him  in  a 
number  of  sharply  contrasted  passing  moods,  especially 
when    such    moods   are   determined   by   circumstances 


342  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

rather  unfamiliar  to  him.  One  then  finds  it  henceforth 
curiously  independent  of  fortune.  The  fundamentally- 
cheerful  man  is  thus  to  be  found,  even  in  the  midst  of 
the  keenest  distress,  and  even  when  he  cries  out  with 
his  bitterest  anguish,  still,  at  heart,  not  really  despair- 
ing, but  in  possession  of  a  certain  fundamental  sense  of 
satisfaction  in  living,  which  no  mere  fortune  can  over- 
come, and  which  only  a  serious  brain  disorder  can  set 
aside.  There  are  other  men,  and  often  very  resolute 
men  too,  who  have  withal  a  deep-seated  emotional  dis- 
trust of  life,  which  never  leaves  them  in  the  midst  of 
the  most  joyous  good  luck.  They  may  be  enduring, 
patient,  even  heroic,  but  they  are  never  on  decidedly 
good  terms  with  their  own  inner  state. 

Such  undertones  of  emotion,  when  one  has  learned 
to  observe  them  in  any  individual,  remind  one  of 
the  temper  of  an  old  violin,  or  of  the  quality  of 
an  individual's  voice  —  facts  which  remain  amid 
the  greatest  varieties  in  the  music  played  or  sung. 
Like  the  violin's  temper  and  the  voice's  quality, 
this  emotional  undertone  is  unquestionably  the  accom- 
paniment of  a  permanent  physical  organisation.  In 
case  of  the  emotional  undertone,  this  is  the  inherited 
temperament  of  the  brain  —  a  fact  which,  when 
once  thus  diagnosed,  may  be  henceforth  counted  upon 
with  great  assurance.  The  emotional  undertone 
appears  to  be  noticeable  in  many  cases  fairly  early 
in    childhood,    although  it  is    liable   to    great    changes 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND    INTELLECT  343 

in    the    course   of    development,    particularly    in    early 
youth. 

§  132.  Abnormal  emotions  may  occur  in  a  great 
variety  of  forms.  They  appear  not  only  as  varia- 
tions from  the  normal  intensity  or  steadiness  of  the 
otherwise  unobjectionable  emotions,  but  as  associa- 
tions of  emotions  with  objects,  situations,  or  habits, 
with  which  these  emotions  ought  not  to  be  associ- 
ated in  a  healthy  organism.  Our  feelings,  as  we 
have  seen,  accompany  certain  nervous  conditions  which 
colour,  and  in  part  determine,  our  whole  ''adjustment 
to  our  environment."  If  the  feeHngs  are  distorted,  this 
indicates  a  distortion  of  these  nervous  conditions,  and 
so  this  whole  adjustment  must  tend  to  fail.  Conversely, 
a  failure  of  our  adjustment,  if  determined  by  nervous 
conditions  which  express  themselves  in  signs  of  feeling, 
is  itself  a  proof  that  the  feelings  are  worthy  to  be  called 
abnormal;  for  our  main  test  of  the  "normal"  is  the 
power  of  successful  adjustment  to  one's  world.  All 
violent  passions  in  ordinary  life  are  therefore  relatively 
abnormal  emotional  states.  The  man  who  adjusts  him- 
self well  ''keeps  his  head,"  whatever  the  temptations  to 
passing  moods  of  confusion.  Just  so,  however,  morbid 
fondnesses  for  dangerous  objects  or  deeds  {e.g.  a  crav- 
ing for  intoxicants  or  a  love  for  unwholesome  reading) 
demonstrate  their  unhealthfulness  by  the  very  fact  that 
their  results  are  instances  of  moral  or  of  physical  failure 
to  adjust  one's  self  to  one's  environment.     But  the  mor- 


344  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

bid  emotion  need  not  be  either  a  violent  or  a^  special  ex- 
perience. The  whole  emotional  undertone  of  any  "  per- 
verse "  character  is,  in  its  own  degree,  an  abnormity ; 
and  such  an  abnormity  may  calmly  outlast  years  of 
training,  and  thousands  of  broken  and  spasmodic  reso- 
lutions. In  fact,  what  is  called  **  perversity  "  of  char- 
acter generally  means  simply  an  abnormity  of  the 
emotional  undertone,  and  is  as  hard  to  alter  as  the 
latter. 

Yet,  of  course,  great  and  enduring  emotional  abnor- 
mities can  be  the  result,  not  of  heredity,  but  of  train- 
ing. Some  of  our  emotions  {e.g.  our  cheerful  or  gloomy 
undertone)  are  principally  due  to  heredity ;  but  others 
are  very  much  moulded  as  they  develop  in  our  early 
lives.  Hence  the  importance  of  care  as  to  guarding 
the  growth  of  such  sorts  of  emotion  as  are  subject  to 
the  greatest  degree  of  development  during  childhood 


V  ■>-  V  V, 


and  youth. 

A  striking  and  critical  >  instance  is  here  the'  whole  j 
world  of  the  sexual  emotions,  including  the  romantic 
and  the  "sentimental"  tendencies.  These,  normally 
absent  or  only  sporadically  hinted  at  in  the  emotional 
life  of  childhood,  develop  with  great  rapidity  at  puberty 
and  for  some  years  afterwards.  They  normally  occur 
at  first  as  the  phenomena  of  reaction  to  particular  series 
of  facts  in  the  environment,  and  they  occur  both  with 
and  apart  from  more  definite  acts.  But  they  also  nor- 
mally tend  to  spread  through  and  colour  gently  one's 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND    INTELLECT  345 

whole  life  to  its  very  highest  and  noblest  levels.  Reli- 
gious emotion,  for  instance,  has  deep  relations  to  them. 
It  is  the  business  of  parents,  teachers,  and  other  guar- 
dians of  youth,  to  see  to  it  that  these  more  subtle  emo- 
tional reactions  are  controlled  by  duly  controlling  both 
this  environment,  and  the  youth's  sentimental  and  pas- 
sionate relations  thereto.  The  laws  of  brain-habit 
determine  the  principle  that  when  experiences  are 
keen  and  novel,  any  reaction  then  accomplished  de- 
termines the  brain's  whole  future  to  a  degree  never 
later  equalled  by  other  actions  of  the  same  sort  and 
number.  Does  one  early  form  an  association  between 
certain  objects  and  certain  vigorous  emotional  responses, 
one's  emotions  are  thenceforth  given  what  may  prove  a 
permanent  "  set."  This,  as  recent  investigations  have 
more  and  more  shown,  is  peculiarly  the  case  with  the 
sexually  emotional  reactions.  Whether  a  youth  is  to  be 
a  libertine  at  heart  or  not,  and  whether  or  no  his  sexual 
imagination  and  feeling  are  to  be  definitely  perverted 
even  while  they  grow  (perverted  in  fashions  that  are 
sometimes  horribly  grotesque  and  mischievous),  is  often 
determined  by  the  earliest  stages  of  his  sexual  experi- 
ence, wherein  must  be  psychologically  included  most 
of  his  youthfully  sentimental  experience,  together  with 
even  his  religious  emotions.  However  convention,  or 
resolution,  or  morahty,  may  later  teach  him  to  control 
his  more  definite  or  more  external  acts,  the  "  set "  of 
his  inner  sexual    consciousness,   and  of   all  that  more 


346  OUTLINES   OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

or  less  unconsciously  gets  built  up  thereupon,  the 
purity  or  impurity  of  his  feeling  as  a  whole,  his 
capacity  for  honourable  love,  the  whole  colouring  of 
even  his  highest  social  emotions,  his  love  of  honour, 
his  truthfulness,  his  humanity  of  sentiment,  may  be 
made  or  marred  for  Hfe  by  the  emotional  responses 
that  he  makes  to  a  comparatively  few  situations  in  his 
early  world  of  ignorant  youthful  sexuality  —  a  world 
to  him  uncomprehended,  and  one  where  too  often, 
alas,  he  is  wholly  unguided.  It  is  one  of  the  saddest 
of  psychological  blunders  that  even  wiser  guides  often 
leave  the  young  to  fight  this  confusing  battle  of  these 
inner  emotional  states  alone,  and  so  such  guardians, 
entrusting  the  young  to  the  mere  chances  of  foolish 
companionships,  subject  some  of  the  most  delicate  and 
momentous  emotional  functions  of  the  youthful  brain 
to  a  treatment  that  no  man  of  sense  would  give  to  his 
watch,  or  even  to  his  boots.  To  be  sure,  a  false  Hght, 
a  deceitful  guidance,  an  ignorant  sort  of  terror  at  possi- 
ble mishaps,  would  in  these  matters  itself  determine  or 
even  constitute  a  perversion.  Guidance  does  not  mean 
mere  random  meddling.  And  even  a  cheerful  indiffer- 
ence accomplishes  far  more  than  a  morbid  anxiety.  But 
one  need  not  ask  for  a  false  artificiality  of  instruction, 
only  for  a  cool  and  reasonable  "  symptomatic  guidance  " 
of  the  young,  given  confidentially,  and  treated  as  a  matter 
of  course,  by  watchful  guardians ;  given,  moreover,  just 
when  the  charge  is  seen  actually  to  need  it.     There  is, 


VARIETIES  OF   EMOTION   AND   INTELLECT  347 

meanwhile,  no  one  routine  of  instruction  as  to  such  mat- 
ters.    Each  case  ought  to  be  watched  for  itself. 

The  mention  of  abnormal  emotions  leads  to  the  prac- 
tical problem  of  estimating  their  significance  when  once 
they  are  present.  Regarding  the  phenomena  of  any- 
given  morbid  emotional  state,  whether  permanent  or 
transient,  it  is  a  general  rule  that,  of  two  morbidly  emo- 
tional moods  or  individuals^  viewed  in  general^  and 
apart  from  special  causes,  the  cheerfully  morbid  is  likely 
to  prove  worse  than  the  painfully  morbid.  False 
despair,  within  limits,  is,  psychologically  speaking, 
much  more  benign  than  false  confidence  or  than  vain- 
glory. One  sees  classic  instances  of  this  in  the  case  of 
the  before-mentioned  fundamentally  "perverse"  char- 
acters. Such  persons,  in  case  their  abnormal  emotional 
"  undertone  "  is  one  of  dissatisfaction  (of  gloom,  or  self- 
distrust,  of  morbid  conscientiousness),  may  be  indeed, 
in  the  strict  sense,  incurable,  since  one  cannot  provide 
them  with  a  new  heredity.  But  they  can  often  learn, 
within  their  limits,  how  to  get  a  very  effective  sort  of  self- 
control,  and  to  live  tolerable  or  even  nobly  useful  lives, 
simply  because  they  suffer  for  their  frailties,  and  con- 
sequently strive  for  some  sort  of  salvation.  But  the 
cheerfully  perverse,  whose  undertone  is  often  one  of 
vainglory,  and  who  accordingly  revel  in  their  own  per- 
versities, are  much  more  hopeless  cases.  You  may 
give  them  the  clearest  sort  of  knowledge,  and  they 
may  have  a  high  order  of   intelligence  with  which  to 


348  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

grasp  it,  to  restate  it  in  their  own  words,  and  even  to 
preach  it ;  yet  at  heart  they  understand  their  own  per- 
versity only,  in  secret,  or  openly,  to  admire  it.  The 
sole  hope  lies  in  getting  them  where  they  keenly  suffer, 
not,  to  be  sure,  any  external  or  arbitrary  penalty,  but 
what  they  can  come  to  view  as  the  natural  result  of 
their  own  characters.  Even  then,  however,  it  is  a 
ceaseless  marvel  to  the  onlooker  how  much  they  can 
suffer  without  either  losing  their  false  optimism  or 
essentially  mending  their  evil  ways.  They  may  change 
numerous  special  habits  of  conduct,  but  they  still  cling 
to  the  central  enemies  of  their  life.  Self-induced  an- 
guish is  often  their  only  possible  medicine,  yet  they 
tolerate  it  in  simply  enormous  doses,  and  often  go  on 
as  before  to  their  doom,  persisting  that  they  have 
learned  wisdom,  but  daily  manifesting  that  they  are 
fools. 

A  similar  rule  holds,  as  said  above,  regarding  the 
judgment  of  even  passing  moods.  A  state  of  nervous 
fatigue  which  is  extremely  disagreeable,  is  in  general 
nearer  to  the  normal  than  a  condition  in  which  we  are 
actually  very  tired,  but  feel  extraordinarily  vivacious. 
Cheerful  insomnia  is  far  worse  than  is  even  a  decidedly 
painful  sense  of  weariness  when  accompanied  by  sleepi- 
ness. Even  anger  that  is  uncontrollably  violent,  and 
that  causes  the  keenest  suffering  to  the  angry  indi- 
vidual, is  less  abnormal  than  that  lucid  type  of  fury 
which  its  possessor  fairly  enjoys  and  nurses.     Temper 


VARIETIES  OF  EMOTION  AND   INTELLECT  349 

of  the  first  sort  quickly  wears  itself  out  in  pathetically 
helpless  reactions.  Temper  of  the  cheerily  malicious 
sort  may  make  its  possessor  a  criminal  before  it  lets  go 
its  hold.  After  great  calamities  people  are  often 
"  dazed  "  into  an  ominous  insensitiveness.  The  return 
to  the  normal  is  then  marked  by  an  anguish  which  the 
sufferer  himself  welcomes  as  a  sign  that  he  is  again 
"coming  to  his  senses."  Thus,  in  general,  good  ob- 
servers are  not  easily  appalled  by  the  mere  appearance 
of  suffering.  Mental  anguish,  viewed  as  a  psychologi- 
cal phenomenon,  and  apart  from  any  otherwise  known 
and  serious  external  cause  for  sorrow,  is  always  an 
abnormal  incident;  but  it  is  frequently,  in  its  conse- 
quences, benign ;  in  its  direct  indications,  relatively 
insignificant. 

So  much  must  here  suffice  for  our  study  of  some  of 
the  practical  aspects  of  the  life  of  the  emotions.  We 
turn  to  our  projected  sketch  of  some  aspects  of  the  life 
of  the  intellecrt.    *  '  t^^fr^v.-*,^-^--^^^ 

^  §  133.  All  the  contents  of  the  stream  of  consciousj'j 
ness,  zn  so  fa7'  as  they  co7istitiite  experience^  —  i.e.  in  so 
far  as  we  learn  from  them^  —  are  contents  of  intellect. 
When  we  view  these  contents  from  one  side,  we  find  in 
them,  everywhere  present,  a  certain  colour  of  passing 
estimate,  an  immediate  sense  that  they  are  worth  some- 
thing to  us  at  any  given  moment,  or  that  they  then  have 
an  interest  to  us.  When  we  view  these  same  contents 
in  another  light,  we  observe  that  not  merely  their  pass- 


350  OUTLLNES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

ing  interest  as  such  has  a  real  importance  for  us,  but 
that  this  momentary  value,  as  we  feel  it,  is  but  a  hint, 
and  sometimes  a  poor  one,  of  the  real  place  that  they 
have  in  relation  to  our  adjustment  to  our  environment. 
Not  only  that  given  states  now  pass,  but  that  certam 
fof'incr  states  have  been,  guides  us  in  our  dealing  with 
the  world.  In  so  far  as  we  either  recognise  or  othei^wise 
profit  by  this  relation  between  our  present  and  our  former 
states^  or  in  so  far  as,  by  vit'tue  of  such  a  relation  to  the 
past  states^  we  are  led  to  expect  ajty  future  state,  our 
mental  states  are  said  to  be  experiences,  a^td  they  then 
have,  in  addition  to  their  direct  value  as  feelings,  an  in- 
direct value  as  indicatio7ts  of  truth,  as  sources  of  know- 
ledge, or,  once  more,  as  intellectual  conditions.  This 
"indirect  value"  we  have  already  called  their  "intel- 
lectual value." 

The  laws  of  docility  determine  how  our  mental  states 
:ome  to  get  this,  their  intellectual  value.  The  special 
processes  of  the  intellect  have  been  treated  under  that 
head.  We  are  here  concerned  with  practically  interest- 
ing illustrations. 

The  practical  study  and  proper  guidance  of  the 
intellectual  life  constitutes  one  of  the  principal  prob- 
lems of  civilisation.  All  efforts  to  deal  with  the  prob- 
lem must  set  out  from  the  fact  that  the  intellectual 
life  is  precisely  the  "  organisation  of  experience,"  and 
that,  on  the  other  hand,  both  the  expression  and  the 
very  existence  of  the  intellect  are  dependent  upon  the 


^ 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND    INTELLECT  35 1 

formation  of  rational  habits  of  conduct,  useful  motor 
adjustments. 

/  The  first  principle  is  itself  twofold.  It  means  that 
the  intellectual  life  depends,  as  to  its  genesis  in  each 
of  us,  upon  experience,  and  that,  apart  from  experience, 
we  have  no  sound  intellectual  guidance.  It  also  means 
rthat  ?io  experience  is  of  importance  ujiless  it  is  organisedy 
Vand  that  chaotic  or  irrationally  ordered  experience 
is  useless,  and  may  be  worse  than  useless.  The  second* 
(principle  shows,  in  general  terms,  how  experience  is 
rganised.  It  is  organised  by  teaching  certain  fitting 
habits  of  conduct  (imitative  processes,  constructive 
activities,  language-functions,  habits  of  attentive  ob- 
servation), such  as  are  at  once  constant,  familiar,  and 
accurate  as  to  their  general  types,  and  at  the  same  time 
plastic,  adaptable,  and  controllable,  with  reference  to 
the  novel  circumstances  that  may  arise.  That  this 
complex  object  may  be  attained  in  case  of  healthy 
brains  is  itself  a  matter  of  experience.  How  to  attain 
it  belongs  to  the  art  of  the  teacher  —  an  art  whose  rules, 
so  far  as  they  can  be  stated  abstractly  at  all,  must  be 
founded  on  the  laws  of  habit,  of  interest,  and  of  inhi- 
bition —  all  of  them  laws  which  can  best  be  stated  in 
terms  of  the  physical  functions  of  the  brain.  At  all 
events,  he  teaches  in  vain  who  does  not  in  some  way 
organise  the  activities,  the  intellectually  expressive 
deeds  of  his  pupils.  Thought  is  either  action  or 
nothing. 


352  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

§  134.  ;The  abnormities  of  the  intellectual  life  are 
more  manifold  and  sharply  definable  than  are  those  of 
the  emotional  life.  The  common  formula  for  them  all 
is  a  failure  of  due  imitative  adjustment  to  the  environ- 
ment, conditioned  either  by  defective  3ense  organs  or 
by  defective  or  by  hindered  intellectual  habits  of  brain. 
This  failure,  whether  its  cause  lies  in  hereditary  tem- 
perament, or  in  early  training,  or  in  acute  or  in  chronic 
disease,  is  very  generally  a  matter  that  shows  itself 
more   or   less    plainly   to    every   close   observer.      The 

intellectually  abnormal  person  seems  ''queer,"  or  is 
called  a  "fool"  or  a  "crank,"  or  makes  a  "failure  of  life," 
or,  in  cases  of  acute  acquired  malady,  "becomes  stupid," 
or  "loses  his  memory,"  or  otherwise  "breaks  down." 
Such  things,  in  a  general  way,  one  constantly  hears. 
Intellectual  defects  and  disorders,  if  considerable,  do 
not  easily  escape  notice,  because  the  keen  struggle  for 
existence  sets  every  man  busily  adjusting  himself  to 
his  environment,  and  a  serious  failure  of  the  brain  to  \ 

misplay   useful    habitual   functions   is    sooner   or    later 

ipretty  unsparingly  exposed. 

(On  the  other  hand,  the  diagnosis  of  what  is  the  actual 
failure  present  in  any  individual  case  is  much  more 
difficult.  There  is,  one  must  remember,  no  such  thing 
as  "  fooHshness  "  in  general,  unless,  as  in  case  of  the 
extreme  idiot  or  of  the  patient  suffering  from  advanced 
dementia,  one  means  thereby  simple  absence  of  all 
significant  cortex  functions.    Otherwise  what  gets  called 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND   INTELLECT  353 

y  foolishness  "  or  "  crankiness  "  is  some  particular  groupV 
(of  defects ;  and  then  the  question  is,  each  time,  What^ 
group  ?      It   is   regarding    this    question    that   careless 
judgment,  in  general,  hopelessly  errs. 

Here  it  must  be  noted,  in  the  first  place,  that  many 
intellectual  defects  and  disorders  are  but  secondary 
phenomena,  due  to  disorders  whose  primary  manifesta- 
tion lies  rather  in  the  realm  of  the  f eelin|^s_.__The  grief 
stricken,  the  anxious,  the  worried,  the  exhausted  man, 
or  the  victim  of  violent  physical  pain,  may  have,  for  a 
longer  or  shorter  period,  an  almost  complete  suspen- 
sion, or  else  an  extensive  degradation,  of  all  the  higher 
intellectual  functions.  This  sort  of  thing,  in  case  of 
sufferers  from  acute  nervous  exhaustion,  may  assume 
an  outwardly  very  formidable  aspect,  and  may  give  the 
sufferer  and  his  friends  numerous  fears  of  impending 
insanity,  even  where  the  whole  trouble  is  of  relatively 
very  superficial  character.  The  nervously  exhausted 
are  likely  not  only  to  be,  for  the  time,  intellectually 
inefficient,  but  to  be  keenly  aware  of  the  fact,  so  that 
their  fears  of  disorder  may  often  tend  to  aggravate 
what  disorder  they  have.  It  is  important,  therefore,  to 
distinguish  the  false  fire  from  the  real  mental  danger 
in  these  regions. 

In  cases  of  simple  nervous  exhaustion,  the  attention  is 
usually  one  of  the  most  easily  affected  intellectual  func- 
tions. It  grows  unequal  —  spasmodically  intense  as  to 
some  matters,  uncontrollably  helpless  as  to  others.     A 

2A 


354  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

sense  of  confusion  overtakes  one  in  the  midst  of  busi- 
ness complications  or  of  other  intellectual  tasks.  One's 
favourite  mental  work  grows  unaccountably  distasteful, 
or  else  morbidly  engrossing  in  its  portentousness,  so 
that  one  cannot  lay  it  aside  during  the  hours  of  rest. 
One  forgets  in  the  middle  of  a  sentence  what  one  was 
going  to  say,  and  is  terrified  accordingly.  One  then 
talks  of  entire  mental  collapse.  Memory  may  become 
more  or  less  unequal  or  helplessly  uncontrollable  before 
the  case  has  progressed  far.  A  complaint  of  the 
"  total  loss  of  memory  "  —  a  complaint,  to  be  sure,  often 
absurdly  unfounded  —  is  very  common  with  ner- 
vously exhausted  patients.  Over  all  these  things,  how- 
ever, "the  sense  of  inefficiency,"  a  collection  of  feelings, 
may  easily  be  seen  to  preside,  if  one  observes  more 
closely.  And  a  noteworthy  characteristic  of  this  whole 
state  is  that  the  nervously  exhausted  man  can  often 
do  all,  or  nearly  all,  that  he  declares  himself  unable  to 
do,  can  perform  nearly  all  the  brain  functions  that  he 
regards  as  impaired,  can  speak  coherently,  can  avoid 
confusion,  can  attend  closely,  can  remember  very  fairly, 
if  only,  without  his  express  expectation,  you  engage 
him  in  a  conversation  that  gets  him  for  the  time 
"  out  of  his  ruts,"  and  that  so  temporarily  frees  his 
essentially  intact  brain  from  the  emotional  cloud  that 
is  hindering  his  habits  from  their  natural  expression. 
This  is,  of  course,  an  objective  proof  that  the  clouded 
functions  are  not  yet  destroyed.     So  that  the  question 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND   INTELLECT  355 

of  mental  diagnosis  is  not  here  what  the  nervous  patient 
can  not  do  (when  he  is  left  to  his  anxiety  or  confusion), 
but  what  he  still  can  do  when  for  the  time  you  get  his 
thoughts  "out  of  himself." 
^.  §  135-    This  may  serve  as  a  suggestion  of  the  nature 
of  a  secondary  impairment  of  otherwise  intact  intellec- 
tual processes.     But  we  must  proceed  to  exemplify  the 
intellectual  disorders   proper.     A   striking    example  of 
disorders  directly  intellectual  in  type  is  furnished  by  the 
morbid  phenomena,  of  a  sensory  character,  called  "  Hal-j 
lucinations,"  or  false  perceptions,  which  have  no  foun- 
dation in  external  facts.     These  occur  normally  in  our 
dreams,  often  also  on  the  borderland  of  sleep,  and  in 
a  great  variety  of   mental  disorders.     Sporadically,  as 
single  brief  waking  experiences,  they  occur  also  in  the 
lives  of  healthy  people.     But  they  are  never  present  in 
any  considerable  number  or  persistence  in  a  wide-awake 
person    without    a    decidedly    serious    nervous    cause. 
This   may  be   a   cause  seated  in  part  in  the  external 
sense  organs ;  but  it  generally  involves  those  portions 
of   the   brain  where   the  sensory  nerves  of   the   sense 
affected  have  their  central  stations.     An  hallucination 
is,  in   any  case,  prima  facie  evidence  of    an   abnormal 
form    of    central    excitement.      Yet   hallucinations,    as 
morbid  phenomena,  may  occasionally  exist  for  a  good 
while   in    a   comparatively  isolated  form   in  the  mind. 
The  patient  may  then  be  quite  cool  about  them,  may 
reason  correctly  that  they  are  only  hallucinations,  and 


356  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

may  be  in  all  other  intellectual  respects  apparently  un- 
impaired. But  this  clearness  can  seldom  thus  last  long. 
The  strangeness  of  the  hallucinatory  experience  fixes 
attention  upon  it.  The  physical  cause  of  the  trouble 
is  usually  pretty  general.  In  the  further  development 
of  the  case  either  a  general  delirium  follows,  or  the 
intellectual  habits,  even  if  they  remain  relatively  intact, 
are  gradually  but  dangerously  modified  by  these 
sensory  intruders.  The  delirium  of  fevers,  and  of  a 
number  of  other  nervous  conditions  of  toxic  origin  is 
largely  characterised  by  the  presence  of  manifold  and 
massive  hallucinations,  along  with  great  emotional  dis- 
turbances. 

The  hallucination,  in  itself  alone  considered,  is  a  fair 
example  of  a  special  disorder  of  the  intellectual  life. 
But  another  form  of  intellectual  impairment  appears  in 
what  are  technically  called  Delusions.  Delusions  are 
morbid  derangements  of  one's  habits  of  judgment. 
These  may  be,  like  sporadic  hallucinations,  phenomena 
confined  to  a  decidedly  limited  region  of  the  intellectual 
life.  But  this  seems  to  be  seldom  the  case.  If  a  man 
suffers  from  one  delusion,  he  commonly  falls  a  prey  to 
more  than  one,  although  then  his  delusions  may  still 
relate,  for  the  most  part,  to  some  one  class  of  topics. 
Yet  the  psychological  mechanism  is  such  that  delusions, 
from  their  nature,  tend  to  influence  all  of  the  sufferer's 
intellectual  habits,  and  nobody  can  be  trusted  to  remain 
long  "insane  on  one  topic  only."     One  can  never  tell 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND    INTELLECT  357 

when  the  false  habit  may  not  show  itself  in  some  unex- 
pected region. 

While  the  phenomena  of  insanity  proper  belong  else- 
where, this  sketch  mentions  delusions  simply  because 
of  the  practically  interesting  psychological  problems  of 
diagnosis  which  they  suggest.  As  to  the  name,  the 
psychological  usage  differs  somewhat  from  the  popular 
usage.  The  latter  often  confounds  hallucinations  with 
delusions.  (The  psychologist  means  by  delusion  a  morV 
bidly  defective  type  of  opinions,  while  hallucinations 
are  false  perceptions.  When  a  man  groundlessly  and" 
morbidly  accuses  his  family  of  trying  to  poison  him, 
this  is  a  case  of  delusion.  When  a  patient  hears  unreal 
voices  talking  about  him,  this  is  a  case  of  hallucination. 
Of  course,  phenomena  of  both  kinds  may  be  combined ; 
and  in  many  forms  of  insanity  they  always  are  com- 
bined. The  distinction,  however,  is  important ;  be- 
cause, from  a  purely  psychological  point  of  view, 
'a  delusion  is,  in  general,  the  sign  of  a  deeper  derange- 
ment than  is  a  mere  hallucination.  The  latter  may  be 
due  to  transient  conditions  of  cerebral  excitement.  The 
former,  the  delusion,  stands  at  once  for  the  distortion 
of  one  of  the  most  significant  of  our  habitual  functions, 
namely,  the  function  of  judging  our  relation  to  our 
environment.  And  it  is  a  universal  rule  of  psychologi- 
cal diagnosis  that  the  more  general  the  habit  of  brain 
which  has  been  really  deranged  (and  not  merely  hin- 
dered by  temporary  emotional  disturbances),  thi^  worse 


358  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 


N\ 


is  the  ahnmiiaLijldic^tion.  To  forget  a  familiar  name 
is  possibly  an  abnormal,  but  is  so  far  a  decidedly  super- 
ficial incident.  To  hear  a  voice  when  none  is  really 
speaking  may  be  a  very  grave  matter,  if  it  becomes 
chronic ;  but  of  itself,  as  a  single  incident,  it  indicates 
;  merely  a  state  of  excitement  which  may  soon  pass 
"^^^  away.  But  coolly  to  insist,  without  any  objective 
ground,  that  you  are  indubitably  aware  that  your  wife 
means  to  poison  you  —  this  indicates  an  established 
"  set "  of  brain  which  (unless  the  cause  is  an  acute  and 
transient  delirium)  is  likely  to  prove  serious  in  propor- 
tion to  the  number  and  the  generality  of  the  altered 
habits  which  must  lie  at  the  basis  of  the  perversion. 
(On  the  ''general"  habits  of  the  brain,  compare  what 
has  been  said  in  §  28  near  the  end.) 

On  the  whole,  other  things  being  equal,  the  cooler 
and  less  emotionaj  a  delusion  is,  in  the  tone  with  which 
it  is   held   and   expressed,  the  worse   is  the  indication, 


because  the  more  does  this  state  of  things  indicate  a 
direct  perversion  of  the  more  general  "  set "  of  the 
brain.  The  delusions  of  a  fever  delirium  are  largely 
secondary  to  violent  emotions,  and  so  in  their  contents 
they  are  confused,  and  they  may  soon  pass  away,  when 
the  temporary  brain-poisoning  is  relieved.  The  wild, 
fleeting,  and  scarcely  utterable  delusions  of  an  ether- 
intoxication  are  as  massive  as  is  the  stormy  emotional 
outburst  of  the  intoxicated  condition,  and  they  vanish 
with  recovery.     But  an  experienced  insane  patient  may 


VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION  AND   INTELLECT  359 

hold  to  his  chronic  delusions  with  considerable  coolness 
and  clearness  of  head.  His  power  to  do  so  may  of 
itself  indicate  the  hopelessness  of  his  state.  Especially 
grave  is  the  tendency  of  cooler  delusions  to  get  thought 
out,  or  "  systematised,"  by  the  patient.  For  thus  all  of 
a  man's  habits  of  brain  get  wrought  over  into  the  ser- 
vice of  his  delusion,  and  then  he  can  never  even  con- 
ceive the  way  out.  All  of  the  foregoing  indications 
must  of  course  be  modified  by  the  circumstances  of 
individual  cases,  but  these  suggestions  may  serve  as 
hints  of  the  principles  of  psychological  diagnosis. 

A  morbid  delusion,  for  the  rest,  is  by  no  means  the 
same  thing  as  a  foolishly  false  opinion.  When  one 
gets  superstitions,  or  other  absurd  views,  by  hearsay, 
and  from  the  tradition  of  the  social  order  to  which  one 
belongs,  the  process  of  acquiring  the  false  belief  is 
then  normal,  however  false  the  faith.  There  is  no 
view  so  ill-founded  that  perfectly  sane  men  may  not 
hold  it,  given  a  sufficient  weight  of  social  tradition  and 
of  popular  ignorance.  But  the  peculiarity  of  the  mor- 
bid delusion  is  that  a  man  does  not  get  it  by  normal 
methods,  e.g.  by  accepting  current  social  traditions, 
but  comes  upon  it  alone,  as  a  matter  of  his  private 
experience.  The  exceptions  to  this  rule  are,  for  our 
present  purpose,  insignificant.  Moreover,  the  morbid 
delusion  has  always  a  characteristic  reference  to  the 
patient's  own  private  fortunes  or  dignity,  instead  of 
being,    like    the   socially   acquired   tradition,    a    matter 


360  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

which  concerns  others  quite  as  much  as  himself. 
A  morbid  delusion  may,  indeed,  assume  a  philanthropic 
seeming,  but  a  closer  inspection  always  shows  that  the 
deranged  man  is  to  an  abnormal  degree  at  the  centre 
of  his  false  world.  It  is  he  who,  of  all  men,  is  most 
persecuted  or  exalted. 

§  136.  So  much  must  here  suffice  as  a  mere  hint 
as  to  the  greater  intellectual  abnormities.  Very  com- 
mon, however,  is  another  problem,  viz.,  that  of  the 
diagnosis  of  mere  eccentricity  of  intellectual  life,  apart 
from  any  specifically  manifest  perversions.  It  is  nor- 
mal for  us  to  acquire  the  most  of  our  intellectual  hab- 
its, by  imitation,  from  the  society  to  which  we  belong. 
Our  social  experiences  are  normally  the  most  potent 
of  all  our  experiences.  Speaking,  reading,  writing, 
investigating,  the  knowledge  of  our  profession  or  busi- 
ness, the  thoughts  of  our  daily  life  —  these  are  all  de- 
termined for  us,  in  great  measure,  by  our  guardians 
and  teachers  in  early  life ;  by  our  friends,  comrades, 
rivals,  and  other  fellows  in  later  life.  Hence  the  most 
of  our  intellectual  habits  ought  to  be  of  a  sort  that 
we  have  in  common  with  many  of  our  fellows.  When 
)ne's  intellectual  hfe  varies,  however,  from  the  average 
Ijntellect  of  his  tribe  or  of  his  class,  then,  according  to 
Ithe  degree  and  the  noticeableness  of  the  variation,  one 
is  called  "striking,"  "individual,"  "original,"  "indepen- 
dent," "a  man  of  parts,"  "a  genius";  or,  in  less 
kindly  speech,   one  is  declared  "  eccentric,"    "  queer," 


i 
VARIETIES   OF   EMOTION   AND    INTELLECT  36 1 

"quaint,"   "odd,"  "a  fool,"  or  "a  crank."      Now  it  is 
manifest  that  variations  from    the  average  intellectual  ''"^-''^t^i 
type  are,  within  certain  degrees,  advantageous  both  to    .  1 1'  A>. 
the  individual  and  to  the  community.    The  best  commu- 
nities cultivate  certain  types  of  originality.     One  habit 
that  ambitious  young  people  often  catch  by  imitation 
is    the  very  habit   of    seeming   not   to   imitate,   i.e.    of 
striving  to  be  original.     On  the  other  hand,  there  is  a 
good   deal   of   intellectual   originality   in   the  asylums, 
and    certain   forms    of   eccentricity   are   of   themselves 
abnormal.     The    question  of  diagnosis    often  offers  it- 
self :  Is  this  particular  sort  of  intellectual  eccentricity  \ 
{e.g.  in  this  young   man)  a  mark  of  wholesome  talent/ 
or  of  dangerous  crankiness } 

-f  The  answer  must  be  founded  upon  principles,  some 
oT^which    can  easily  be   stated.     Conformity   to    one's\ 
environment  is,  as  we  must  insist,  in  the  end  the  test  of  |        i 
normality.     But  some   original  men  first  wdn  their  €11^— ';•  ^ 
vironment  over  to  conform   to  them ;  and  herein  they/l'  ;  '^ 
show,  even  through  an  early  conflict  with  the  environ- ^^'^ " 
ment,  their  higher  sort  of  capacity  to  find  a  place  inr^^^ 
their  world.     Moreover,  all  young  men  have  to  spend 
some   time   in    learning   what   they   are    fit    for  before 
harmonious  life   becomes    possible.      Thus  the  test  of 
the    conformity  of  a  given  intellectual  life  to    a  given 
environment  must  be  applied,  especially  in  early  life, 
very   cautiously.     Some   eccentric   young    men   are  so 
because  they  are  "  ugly  ducklings,"  who  will  turn  out 


362  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

swans.  Still  others,  however,  are  rather  geese  among 
swans.  The  psychological  observer  is  therefore  not 
afraid  of  the  mere  show  of  eccentricity,  even  where 
it  is  great  in  degree.  It  is  the  sort  of  eccentricity 
that  such  an  observer  tries  to  consider  more  carefully 
before  he  judges.  And  now  a  general  test  of  the 
abnormally  eccentric  intellectual  life,  where  it  involves 
as  yet  no  graver  disorders,  —  no  delusions,  no  vio- 
lently morbid  emotional  states,  is  to  be  found  in 
much  the  same  region  as  the  one  in  which  the  morbid 
character  of  true  delusions  was  just  seen  to  manifest 
itself.  The  morbidly  eccentric  intellect  is  one  in  which^ 
\  the   interesting    experiences   are    to    an    extraordinary'^ 

(degree  centred  about  matters  which  have  too  little  social- 
concern,  and  too  much  private  concern  for  the  morbid 
individual  himself.  This  test  is  not  applicable,  of 
course,  in  childhood,  since  all  young  children  are  ex- 
tremely self-centred.  But  it  is,  despite  the  normal  sel- 
fishness of  youth,  already  fairly  applicable  in  the  later 
years  of  youth.  A  young  man  may  indeed  be  very 
extremely  and  grossly  "  self-centred  "  and  intellectually 
commonplace  at  once,  without  much  mental  danger ; 
for  he  belongs  to  his  herd,  and  his  herd  will  take  care 
of  him.  His  socially  submissive  instincts  may,  and 
probably  will,  offset  the  selfish  grossness  of  his  con- 
scious aims.  He  will  live,  like  the  rest  of  his  kind,  a 
poor  intellectual  life,  but  a  normal  one.  He  will  think 
mostly  about  his  private  concerns,  but  still  society  will, 


VARIETIES  OF  EMOTION   AND   INTELLECT  T)^^ 

after  all,  determine  w/iat  he  shall  think  about  them. 
Not  so,  however,  is  the  eccentric  or  "original"  mind 
fatally  protected  by  the  instincts  of  the  herd.  And 
where  an  intellectually  eccentric  or  original  mind  is 
extraordinarily  devoted  to  thinking  over,  dwelling  upon, 
planning,  the  private  success,  the  exalted  dignity,  the 
selfish  preferment,  of  just  this  individual,  then,  in  the 
cojnbmatiojt  of  intellectual  eccentricity  and  selfish  narrow- 
ness of  personal  aim,  there  are  strong  marks  of  danger. 
To  be  sure,  even  such  a  being  might  have  the  brain  of 
a  Napoleon ;  but  that  is,  to  speak  mildly,  uncommon. 
On  the  other  hand,  a  naive  eccentricity  of  intellectual 
life,  sincerely,  not  falsely,  devoted  to  objective  concerns 
(mathematical  problems,  scientific  pursuits,  the  study  of 
nobler  literature,  the  pursuit  of  a  modest  but  effective 
philanthropic  career),  is  consistent  with  a  true  promise 
even  where  the  anomaly  is  relatively  great.  A  note- 
worthy test,  then,  is  whether  the  a7iomalo2is  young  person 
really  looks  rather  without  tJian  within.  One  need 
not  add  that  to  apply  such  a  test  needs  often  a  pretty 
close  scrutiny.  Selfish  greed  may  wear  many  cloaks 
and  may  use  noble  phrases. 


CHAPTER  XV 
The  Will,  or  the  Direction  of  Conduct 

§  137.  The  life  of  the  Will  has  already  been  charac- 
terised, as  we  have  repeatedly  seen,  at  every  step  of  our 
whole  inquiry.  We  here  confine  ourselves  to  such  illus- 
trations of  the  growth  of  the  will,  and  of  its  variations, 
as  will  help  to  render  our  foregoing  discussions  more 
easily  applicable  to  the  facts  of  life.  It  is  therefore 
possible  to  be  here  especially  summary  in  our  method 
of  treatment. 

y  By  the  term  Will  in  the  narrower  sense,  one  very  com- 
i 
lonly  means  so  much  of  our  mental  life  as  involves  the 

itte7ttive  guidance  of  our  conduct.  How  such  guidance 
is  possible  we  have  in  this  practical  study,  to  summarise. 
All  definite  brain  processes  tend  to  express  themselves 
without  in  movements  by  which  we  adjust  ourselves 
to  our  environment.  Many  of  these  movements  pass 
more  or  less  unnoticed  by  ourselves.  But  all  of  them, 
in  proportion  as  they  are  marked  and  effective  move- 
ments, tend  not  merely  to  result  from  brain  processes, 
but  to  influence,  in  their  turn,  the  very  brain  whose 
processes  have  initiated  them.  If  one's  arm  moves,  the 
movement  is  itself  a  fact  in  the  world  outside  the  mind, 

364 


THE   WILL,  OR  THE   DIRECTION   OF   CONDUCT       365 

and,  like  any  other  outer  fact,  it  may  be  once  more  per- 
ceived and  remembered.  One  sees  the  arm  move,  feels 
the  sensations  of  muscular  contraction,  and  is  in  still 
other  ways  advised  through  one's  sense  organs  of  the 
processes  which  the  arm's  movement  involves.  More- 
over, if  the  arm,  by  moving,  accomplishes  something 
definite,  such  as  an  act  of  grasping,  one  perceives  the 
resulting  movements  of  the  object  grasped.  If  the  arm 
is  engaged  in  writing  or  in  drawing,  one  sees  on  paper 
the  lines  which  the  moving  hand  traces.  In  all  such 
cases  one  observes,  then,  the  results  of  one's  doings. 
And  so,  in  short,  one's  own  activity  constantly  becomes 
itself  a  part  of  one's  experience.  If  an  experience  is  any 
mental  state  in  so  far  as  its  relation  to  past  states  guides 
our  present  thoughts  and  deeds,  and  if  all  of  our  mental 
life  accompanies  those  expressive  movements,  or  tenden- 
cies to  movement,  which  the  brain  initiates  and  directs, 
it  follows  that  every  mental  state  has  an  aspect  in  which 
it  may  be  regarded  as  involving  an  experience  of  our  own 
fashions  of  action^  or  of  our  oivn  attitudes  toward  our 
world ;  for  at  every  instant  we  are  acting,  or  tending 
to  act,  and  so  at  every  instant  we  are  experiencing  the 
results  of  our  own  activity,  or  of  our  own  tendencies  to 
action.  So  far,  then,  there  is  an  aspect  in  all  of  our 
mental  life  which  constitutes  this  life  a  series  of  experi- 
ences of  our  ow7t  doings^  a  series  which  can  take  on,  by 
the  laws  of  intellectual  growth,  a  highly  organised  and 
rational  character  in  proportion  as  our  habits  of  conduct 


366  OUTLINES  OF  PSYCHOLOGY 

become  themselves  regular,  uniform,  and  complex,  and 
are  observed  by  ourselves  for  what  they  are. 

But  just  as  our  activity  has  its  intellectual  aspect,  in 
so  far  as  we  constantly  learn  what  we  have  done  and 
are  doing,  so,  too,  this  activity  has  also  its  passing  value 
for  us  in  our  direct  feelings.  It  either  gives  us  pleasure 
or  pain  ;  or  else  it  makes  us  either  restless  or  quiescent ; 
or  possibly  it  combines  pleasure  or  pain  with  restless- 
ness or  quiescence.  What  we  are  doing  at  any  given 
moment  is  thus  satisfactory  or  unsatisfactory  to  us.  Ac- 
tion which,  by  virtue  of  its  passing  character  as  a  felt 
mode  of  action,  relatively  satisfies  us,  we  call  an  expres- 
sion of  our  desires.  When  an  action  is  such  that  the 
feeUng  which  estimates  it  is  one  of  predominant  dis- 
satisfaction, the  act  opposes  our  ruling  desires,  and  tends 
to  be  inhibited  accordingly.  TJms,  then,  every  mental 
state  tends  to  have,  as  a  fact  of  feeling,  an  aspect  which 
embodies  our  current  relative  satisfaction  or  dissatisfaction 
with  our  own  momentary  doings.  A  desire  means  a  ten- 
dency to  action,  experienced  as  such,  and  at  the  same  time 
felt  as  a  relatively  satisfactory  te^idency. 

So  far,  then,  we  see  :  (i)  that  our  own  activity  forms 
constantly  a  part  of  our  experience ;  (2)  that  this  same 
activity  constantly  results  in  a  modification  of  our  feel- 
ings of  satisfaction  and  dissatisfaction  in  what  we  are 
doing.  If  one  combines  these  two  aspects  of  our  in- 
ner life,  one  can  say  that  together  they  involve  a  vast 
experience  of  ojcr  own  desires  and  aversions,  of  our  own 


THE   WILL,  OR  THE   DIRECTION   OF  CONDUCT       367 

doings  and  inhibitions,  and  of  the  inner  results  of  these 
doings  and  inhibitio7is,  together  with  a  constant  play  of 
feelings  of  iimer  content  and  discontent  zuith  our  ozvn 
motor  processes  y  and  with  the  leftdencies  or  attitudes  wJiicJi 
accompany  our  partially  suppressed  m,oveme7its. 

Thus  we  briefly  characterise  that  aspect  of  our  inner 
life  which  constitutes  the  world  of  desire  and  of  its  out- 
come. Thus  viewed,  our  minds  appear  as  full  of  pass- 
ing impulses,  of  tendencies  to  action,  of  passions,  and 
of  concerns  for  what  we  take  to  be  our  welfare.  All 
these  impulses  and  concerns  get  woven,  by  the  laws 
of  habit,  into  systems  of  ruling  motives  which  express 
themselves  without  in  our  regular  fashions  of  conduct. 
The  whole  of  our  inner  life,  viewed  in  this  aspect, 
appears  as  the  purposive  side  of  our  consciousness ,  or  asj 
the  will  in  the  wider  sense. 

§  138.  But  it  remains  to  lay  stress  upon  one  further 
aspect,  by  virtue  of  which  the  world  of  the  more  or 
less  organised  impulses,  concerns,  passions,  and  other 
desires  gets  its  fully  developed  character  as  the  world 
of  the  will  in  the  stricter  or  more  narrow  sense.  We 
not  only  observe  and  feel  our  own  doings  and  atti- 
tudes or  tendencies  as  a  mass  of  inner  facts,  viewed 
all  together,  but  in  particular  we  attend  to  them  with  -  '  ^ 
greater  or  less  care,  selecting  now  these,  now  those  ten-^^  ;  f 
deficies  to  action  as  the  central  objects  in  our  experience  of 
our  own  desires.  For  the  process  of  attention  often 
has  as  its  objects  not  only  external   facts,  or  facts  of 


368  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

sense  perception,  but  also  desires,  actions,  inhibitions, 
tendencies  to  action,  concerns,  feelings,  passions  —  in 
brief,  whatever  constitutes  the  active  side  of  our  nature. 
But  to  attend  to  anything  is  to  emphasise  that  object, 
to  give  it  *'  relief "  as  against  the  rest  of  what  is  in 
our  minds.  To  attend  to  any  action,  or  to  any  tendency 
to  action,  to  any  desire,  or  to  afty  passion,  is  the  same 
thing  as  "to  select,"  or  "to  choose,"  or  "to  prefer," 
or  "to  take  serious  interest  in,"  just  that  tendency  or 
deed.  Aiid  such  attentive  preference  of  one  course  of 
conduct,  or  of  one  tendency  or  desire,  as  agaiiist  all 
others  prese^it  to  onr  minds  at  any  time,  is  called  a 
voluntary  act. 

SThe  will  is,  in  its  more  complex  manifestations,  the 
attentive  furthering  of  our  interest  iji  one  actjor  desire  ^ 
as  azainst  a^iother.  The  act  or  desire  is  in  itself  of 
more  or  less  interest  to  us.  If  we  attend  to  this  g-ct 
or  desire,  we  further  our  interest  in  it.  The  furthered 
interest  results  in  a  clearer  consciousness  of  the  act 
or  tendency  in  question.  But  the  very  existence  of 
such  clear  consciousness  implies  (by  the  principles  in- 
dicated in  §  33),  that  the  condition  of  brain  which 
naturally  expresses  itself  in  just  this  form  of  outward 
activity  is,  at  the  moment  of  clear  consciousness,  a 
predominant  condition  of  the  brain.  The  furthered 
interest,  if  intense  enough,  therefore  means,  on  the 
physical  side,  that  the  form  of  activity  in  which  we 
are  interested  gets  an  actual  outer  expression  fust  as 


THE   WILL,  OR  THE   DIRECTION   OF   CONDUCT      369 

soo7t  as  our  attention  sufficiently  prefers  the  thougJit  of 
this  act  to  the  thougJit  of  any  otJier  act. 

{To  think  of  any  sort  of  activity,  therefore,  already  [ 
I  implies    a   tendency   to    this   form    of    activity. )    And 

i"ctually  to  will  a  given  act  is  to  think  attentively  of  that\ 
ct  to  the  exclusion  or  neglect  of  the  representtttion) 
r  imagijmig  of  any  and  all  other  acts.  Whenever 
one  idea  of  action  or  one  type  of  desire  becomes 
really  predominant  in  consciousness  through  attentive 
consideration,  then  the  action  or  desire  in  question  at 
once  gets  carried  out,  until  some  restraining  idea  arises 
and  in  its  turn  gets  attended  to.  Choice  bears,  there- 
fore, the  same  relation  to  actions  that  intellectual 
attention  bears  to  images,  ideas,  or  thoughts ;  and  in 
discussing  the  phenomena  of  attention  (see  §  103  and 
§  126),  we  have  already  discussed  all  that  is  essential 
to  the  comprehension  of  an  act  of  will. 

§  139.    It   remains    to   note   here    only    one    or   two 
considerations   of    no    small   practical    moment.      The 
first  is  that,  strange  as  the    statement   may  seem,  we 
can    7iever    consciously    and    directly    will    any    really 
novel  course   of  action.      We   ca7i   directly    will  an  act\ 
only  when  we  have  before  done  that  actj  aiid  have  so\ 
experienced  the  nature  of  it.     The  will  is  as  dependent^ 
as  the  intellect  upon  our   past   experience.     One    can 
indeed  will  an  act  which  is  sure  to  involve,  in  a  given 
environment,   absolutely  novel   consequences ;    but   the 
act  itself,  so  far  as  one  wills  it,  is  a  familiar  act.     Thus 

2B 


370  OUTLINES   OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

a  suicide  can  will  an  act  which  results  in  his  own 
death,  and  so  far  he  seems  to  be  willing  something 
which  wholly  transcends  his  past  experience.  But, 
as  a  fact,  the  act  itself  which  he  makes  the  direct 
object  of  his  will  {e.g.  pointing  a  pistol  and  pulling 
a  trigger,  or  swallowing  a  dose)  is  itself  an  act  with 
which  he  is  long  since  decidedly  familiar.  One  can 
will  to  visit  a  far  country,  to  engage  in  a  new  sort  of 
speculation,  to  choose  a  still  unfamiliar  profession,  to 
marry,  or  to  do  anything  else  whose  consequences 
one  cannot  foresee.  But  it  is  the  consequences  that 
are  novel ;  the  act  which  one  directly  wills  is  not 
novel.  What  one  does  at  the  decisive  moment  is  to 
buy  a  ticket,  to  sign  one's  name,  to  say  "Yes,"  or 
otherwise  to  repeat  deeds  whose  contents  are  already 
perfectly  familiar,  while  the  circumstances  under  which 
they  are  willed  may  make  them  to  any  extent  momen- 
tous. But,  on  the  other  hand,  one  cannot  will  to  fly, 
because  one  has  never  learned  how.  We  can  thus 
( will  to  do  what  we  have  learned  to  do.  "  Con- 
trol yourself,"  says  the  stern  adviser  to  the  spoiled 
child.  But  the  adviser  upbraids  in  vain.  How  can 
the  spoiled  child  will  to  control  himself  if  nobody  has 
ever  shown  him,  by  an  appeal  to  his  imitative  in- 
stincts, what  self-control  means }  Our  choice,  psycho- 
logically viewed,  is  thus  an  absolutely  unoriginal 
power.  It  gives  back  what  experience  has  taught  it. 
But,  on  the  other  hand,  the  will,  if  not  in  itself  original, 


THE   WILL,  OR  THE   DIRECTION   OF   CONDUCT      371 

may  be  to  any  extent  oj-iginative,  because  to  repeat 
such  an  unoriginal  act  as  signing  one's  name,  or  say- 
ing "  Yes,"  may,  under  given  conditions,  begin  a  new- 
life  for  the  doer.  Moreover  the  voluntary  process  is 
always  bound  up  with  the  conditions  which  determine 
Mental  Initiative  (see  Chapter  XIII). 
/  Closely  connected  with  the  foregoing  consideration 
is  the  further  principle  that,  before  we  can  come  to 
possess  a  will,  we  must  first  perform  numerous  and 
complex  acts  by  virtue  of  the  inherited  tendencies  of 
the  brain.  •  Such  original  tendencies  of  the  brain  are 
the  source  of  our  human  instincts.  The  will  is  based 
upon  instincts.  These  get  moulded  by  experience. 
The  resulting  acts,  gradually  organised  by  the  laws 
of  habit,  come  at  last  to  our  notice,  in  so  far  as  our 
doings  are  themselves  a  part  of  our  experience.  The 
accompanying  feelings  colour  our  acts  so  that  they  are 
also  expressions  of  desire.  Then  attention  fixes  now 
on  this,  now  on  that  conceived  act,  tendency,  or  desire, 
according  as  our  interest  plays  over  the  whole  series 
of  such  experiences  of  our  activity.  The  emphasis 
which  attention  gives,  in  the  end,  to  the  ruling  idea  of 
action  is  the  inner  and  psychological  aspect  of  our 
current  act  of  will  or  of  choice. 

§  140.  The  growth  of  language  in  any  child  is  an 
excellent  example  of  the  evolution  of  the  will.  In- 
herited instinct  expresses  itself  in  the  infantile  actions 
known    outwardly    as    cries,    and   later  as    more   vocal 


3/2  OUTLINES  OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

sounds  —  babblings,  primitive  efforts  at  wholly  mean- 
ingless articulation.  Then  the  child  begins  to  observe 
these  acts  of  his  own,  to  feel  satisfaction  in  them,  to 
desire  their  repetition.  The  result,  so  far,  is  the  devel- 
opment of  a  chaos  of  vocalised  expressions,  but  not  yet 
anything  resembling  true  speech.  However,  long  be- 
fore this  process  is  completed,  another  inherited  instinct 
intervenes.  The  child  is  imitative.  This  instinct  in- 
volves complex  processes  which  result  in  making  the 
child's  vocal  noises  tend  to  resemble  those  which  he 
hears  from  other  people.  This  resemblance,  once 
more  noticed  by  the  child,  also  becomes  a  much-desired 
ideal ;  and  hereby  the  child  first  gradually  learns  and 
then  definitely  wills  to  reproduce  the  utterances  of 
others.  Then  there  is  added,  while  these  processes 
are  still  under  way,  the  intellectual  experience  that 
many  of  the  sounds  uttered  by  other  people  mean 
something  —  are  names  for  things,  or  for  feelings,  or 
for  purposes.  This,  erelong,  shows  the  child  that  he 
too  can  express  his  meaning  by  using  the  right  sounds. 
Now  he  becomes  selective,  attentive  to  speech  as  such, 
desirous  of  harmonising  what  he  says  with  what  others 
say  or  understand ;  and  finally,  upon  the  basis  of  all 
these  elaborately  moulded  instincts  and  habits,  the  in- 
telligent will  to  talk  takes  form ;  and  henceforth  the 
child  says  whatever  he  predominantly  and  attentively 
desires  or  chooses  to  say,  whenever  he  is  thinking  of 
speech  rather  than  of  any  other  mode  of  activity. 


THE   WILL,  OR  THE   DIRECTION  OF  CONDUCT      373 

§  141.    While  the  expression  of  our  minds  in  and  by 
our  conduct  is  the  one  great  tendency  upon  which  all  our 
knowledge  of  mind  from  without,  and  all  the  serviceable- 
ness  of  mental  life  for  the  interests  of  society,  depends, 
it  is  nevertheless  the  case  that  the  practical  study  and 
training   of   the   will   are    almost   always   regarded    as 
secondary  to  the   practical    study  and  training  of  the 
feelings  and  the  intellect.    /The   reason   for   this   cur- 
rent view  is  obvious.      Apart   from    intellectual  train- 
ing, the  life  of   our  desires   is    mainly  the   expression- 
of  our  inherited   instincts,  which  nobody  can  hope  toV-^X^v^ 
eradicate  altogether,  or   to    enrich   by  the    addition  oii^^-^^"^-^^-^ 
any  entirely  novel   instincts.^    W/mt  can   be   done  for^^^  — ^ 
lis   is    to    orgajtise   our  planlessly   numerous    inJierited 
instincts  in   such  fashion  that  there  shall  result  valu- 
able and  consciously  directed  habits.     The  devices  for 
accomplishing    this    aim    are    largely   appeals   to   our 
universal  human  love  of  social  imitation.     Hereby  we 
"  learn    how "    to    act    aright ;    and    unless   we    have 
"  learned    how,"    one     appeals    to    our   will    in    vain. 
Hence  what  appears  as  an  intellectual  acquisition  —  a 
"learning   how"   to  be  good,  industrious,  skilful,  self- 
directing,    etc.  —  is    always     prior    to    the    successful 
moulding  of  the  will  as  such.     As  every  such  "learn- 
ing how  "  involves  interests,  the  feelings  are  appealed 
to   at  every  point.     But  the  will  itself,  whose  proper 
moulding  is  indeed  in  one  sense  the  goal  of   all  edu- 
cation,   seems    to    be    capable    of    only   this    indirect 


374 


OUTLINES  OF    PSYCHOLOGY 


approach.  Or,  again,  to  teach  one  to  will  involves 
teaching  him  first  to  take  note  of  his  own  conduct. 
But  to  teach  him  this  you  must  first  establish  in  him 
the  desired  conduct.  You  must  get  him  to  do  before 
he  has  consciously  willed  this  particular  sort  of  doing. 
T/ie  involuntary  conduct  must  precede  the  voluntary  ; 
but  the  right  sort  of  involuntary  conduct  you  can 
only  establish  through  appeals  to  the  feehngs,  and 
through  presenting  the  fitting  objects  of  knowledge 
to  the  intellect. 

For  the  same  reason  disorders  and  defects  of  the 
will  never  exist  alone.  They  always  involve  altera- 
tions either  of  the  feelings  or  of  the  intellect,  and 
must  be  studied  in  connection  therewith.  It  is  note- 
worthy that  insanity,  in  the  popular  mind,  is  usually 
conceived  as  primarily  an  intellectual  defect  rather 
than  as  primarily  a  defect  of  the  will,  and  this  despite 
the  notorious  fact  that  insanity  can  only  manifest  itself 
through  some  sort  of  "  queer  "  or  "  wrong  "  expressive 
action. 

Nevertheless,  it  is  often  important  to  consider  mental 
defects  or  disorders  from  the  side  of  the  will.  So 
viewed,  what  are  usually  and  practically  named  the 
"  disorders  of  the  will  "  may  be  said  to  manifest  them- 
selves in  three  general  types.  The  first  type  is  that  of 
the  absence  or  serious  impairment  of  the  ability  to 
carry  out  important  voluntary  acts,  when  such  acts 
have  already  been  in  the  past  learned  as  well  as  often 


THE   WILL,  OR   THE   DIRECTION   OF   CONDUCT      375 

performed.  This  first  defect  is  often  known  by  the 
rather  vague  name  of  "weakness  of  will."  A  technical 
name  is  "  Aboulia,"  or  morbid  will-lessness.  The  sec- 
ond type  of  defects  of  will  is  that  of  the  chaotic  or 
"  segmented  "  will,  whose  plans  do  not  hang  together, 
whose  action  is  morbidly  impulsive,  capricious,  incon- 
sistent, or  inwardly  anarchical.  The  third  type  of 
defects  of  will  appears  in  those  morbidly  perverted 
persons  (e.£^.  in  morbid  criminals)  whose  activity,  with-  -^  ^., 
out  being  confused  or  chaotic,  is  still  steadfastly  such 
as  fails  of  any  tolerable  adjustment  to  the  environment, 
and  especially  to  the  civilised  social  environment. 

§  142.  The  first  type,  aboulia,  is  sometimes  a  mani- 
festation of  the  temperament  as  such.  In  such  cases  '  V^ 
one  naturally  looks  for  its  cause  in  the  emotional 
"undertone"  (cf.  §  131).  The  deeply  hesitant  or  mor- 
bidly indecisive  man,  who,  despite  having  learned  how 
to  do  a  given  thing,  and  despite  his  clearly  knowing 
that  it  is  to  his  interest  to  act,  still  remains  permanently 
fast  bound  in  a  Hamlet-like  incapacity  to  will  anything 
for  himself  at  the  important  moment,  has  become  a 
favourite  topic  for  literary  portrayal.  Hamlet  notori- 
ously refers  his  own  defects  of  will  to  intellectual 
causes.  His  "  native  hue  of  resolution "  is  *'  sicklied^^"' 
o'er  with  the  pale  cast  of  thought."  But  such  de- 
fective will  may  appear  with  a  less  obvious  intellectual 
basis  than  in  Hamlet's  case.  Then,  however,  the  de- 
fect would  probably  be  definable,  in  emotional  terms. 


376  OUTLINES    OF   PSYCHOLOGY 

as  the  pretty  constant  presence  of  some  emotion  of 
painful  timidity  or  scrupulosity,  in  the  presence  of 
which  all  very  decisive  action  seems  in  general  un- 
satisfactory. "Apathy"  of  temperament  —  i.e.  an 
enduring  state  of  abnormally  depressed  emotional  sen- 
sitiveness—  might  have  the  same  effect. 

But  aboulia  is  a  frequent  acute  symptom  in  cases  of 
more  or  less  transient  nervous  exhaustion.  In  a  meas- 
ure, every  one  can  occasionally  notice  such  a  defect  of 
will  as  an  incident  of  normal  weariness.  At  such  times 
we  may  find  it  especially  hard  to  make  a  decision,  even 
when  we  seem  to  ourselves  clearly  able  to  see  just  what 
decision  ought  to  be  made,  and  even  while  we  feel  that, 
as  we  say,  we  "want"  or  even  "long"  to  decide.  The 
feeling  of  helplessness  is  then  itself  often  extremely 
painful.  If  by  chance  we  actually  begin  a  decisive 
course  of  conduct,  then  the  feeling  that  we  are  "  com- 
mitted "  gives  a  great  sense  of  relief,  and  the  defect 
of  will  may  at  once,  for  the  time,  vanish  altogether. 

In  cases  of  nerv^ous  exhaustion,  such  aboulia  is  an 
inconvenient  complication,  in  so  far  as  it  tends  to  set 
a  habit  of  indecision  which  may  long  sur\dve  the  period 
of  exhaustion  itself.  In  itself,  however,  this  acute 
aboulia  is  apparently  no  very  alarming  incident.  The 
nerv^ouslv  exhausted  man  should  be  carefullv  relieved, 
so  far  as  possible,  from  every  necessity  of  making  diffi- 
cult choices.  He  should,  therefore,  if  possible,  "  resign 
his  will  "  into  the  hands  of  some  one,  or  at  most  two 


THE    WILL,  OR  THE   DIRECTION   OF   CONDUCT      377 

or  three  competent  and  harmonious  advisers ;  and  he 
must  be  protected  from  every  confusing  variety  of 
plans.  On  the  other  hand,  whenever  decisions  are 
really  necessary,  he  should  always  be  gently  but  firmly 
helped  to  a  quick  and  irrevocable  choice,  since  hesi- 
tancy is  a  very  exhausting  incident  in  his  experience, 
and  since  even  a  poor  choice  is  often  better  for  him 
than  doubt.  But  if  such  care  is  taken,  the  aboulia 
itself  is  no  very  serious  symptom.  Sometimes  one 
meets  with  light  cases  of  weariness  where  such  aboulia 
is,  in  fact,  almost  the  only  discoverable  morbid  symp- 
tom, and  these  cases  are  actually  encouraging  as  to 
the  outlook  for  quick  recovery. 

Much  more  manifold  are  the  chaotic  disorders  of  the 
morbidly  inconsistent  or  capricious  will.  Tempera- 
ments abound  which  are  characterised  by  phenomena 
of  this  kind,  and  in  both  acute  and  chronic  disorders 
the  disorganised  will  is  a  well-known  symptom.  This, 
for  example,  is  especially  true  in  hysterical  disorders. 
But  ordinary  nervous  exhaustion  is  frequently  burdened 
with  enemies  of  the  kind.  One  often  sees,  for  instance, 
the  man  who  forms  morbidly  one-sided  resolutions  for 
the  conduct  of  this  or  of  that  portion  of  his  life.  He 
means  to  permit  only  this  or  this  train  of  thought,  or 
to  exclude  wholly  this  or  this  possibility  of  temptation. 
Over  the  well-meant  but  possibly  useless  resolution  he 
grows  morbidly  conscientious,  and  upbraids  his  friends 
for  not  sufficiently  appreciating  and  aiding  his  efforts. 


3/8  OUTLINES   OF    PSYCHOLOGY 

Meanwhile,  however,  he  freely  indulges  himself  in 
graver  defects  than  the  one  which  he  is  so  elaborately 
correcting,  and  inconsistently  encourages  even  the  very 
tendencies  which  he  is  fighting  by  giving  them  a  false 
importance  through  his  over-wrought  self-scrutiny.  In 
more  hysterically  disposed  cases  such  defectively  insist- 
ent broodings  will  be  subject  also  to  vast  changes  of 
plan,  so  that  the  sufferer  alters  his  religious  faith,  or 
the  whole  ideal  of  his  life,  without  any  clear  reason, 
and  throws  to  the  winds  a  whole  system  of  good  resolu- 
tions in  favour  of  some  other  equally  useless  scheme. 
The  habit  of  mere  fickleness  may  thus  become  finally 
prevalent  over  all  other  habits  (cf.  §  28,  p.  69).  One 
thus  finds  people  who  acquire  a  ''  mania"  for  changing 
their  religious  faiths  or  their  callings. 

Simpler,  but  often  very  stubborn,  are  the  phenomena 
of  disorganisation  of  will  in  case  some  one  more  or 
less  generalised  motor  habit  becomes  rebelliously  insist- 
ent—  e.g.j  the  habit  of  counting  or  of  examining  gas- 
jets,  locks,  etc.,  to  see  whether  they  have  been  safely 
adjusted,  or  of  asking  useless  questions  about  some  sort 
of  topics.  Disorganisations  of  this  kind  appear  in 
many  patients  on  the  basis  of  a  defective  hereditary 
constitution.  But  in  children  and  quite  young  people 
they  are  also  often  present  as  mere  disorders  of  devel- 
opment, which  pass  away  with  maturity.  And  nervous 
exhaustion  can  bring  them  on  as  acute  symptoms  in 
otherwise    unburdened    people.      A   surprisingly   large 


THE  WILL,  OR  THE  DIRECTION   OF  CONDUCT      379 

number  of  such  morbid  habits  can  often  exist  without 
destroying  or  even  seriously  endangering  in  other 
respects  the  general  capacity  of  the  brain  that  suffers 
from  them ;  and  the  fears  of  an  impending  general 
insanity  which  they  often  arouse  are  therefore  very  fre- 
quently unfounded.  On  the  other  hand,  they  are  cer- 
tainly grave  inconveniences,  and  are  not  to  be  trifled 
with.  They  are  best  treated,  apart  from  the  medical 
care  of  the  patient's  general  health,  through  a  discreet 
moral  support,  given  by  a  competent  adviser,  who  can 
often  help  the  patient  to  or  towards  a  relatively  effec- 
tive and  cheerful  ignoring  of  his  enemies. 

In  estimating  all  such  defects  the  rule  holds  here,  as 
in  case  of  the  defects  of  the  intellect,  that  the  stronger 
the  attendant  emotional  colouring  of  the  disorder,  the 
more  hopeful,  other  things  being  equal,  is  the  outlook. 
The  cooler  the  emotional  tone  of  the  sufferer  from  a 
defective  will,  in  so  far  as  concerns  his  immediate  feel- 
ing about  his  disorder,  the  fewer  are  the  means  of  influ- 
encing his  morbid  state.  And  this  finally  suggests  why 
the  morbidly  perverted  characters  whose  wills  are  rela- 
tively well  organised,  firm,  and  cool,  but  whose  behaviour 
is  intolerable,  are  in  general  incurable.  In  consequence, 
we  may  as  well  here  abandon  the  task  of  further 
describing  such  characters,  whose  mission  in  the 
world  seems  to  be  to  illustrate  the  variability  but  not 
the  healthy  docility  of  our  human  nature. 


INDEX 

[In   use,   this   index  should  be  supplemented  by  the  analysis  of  the 
text  in  the  Table  of  Contents.] 


Aboulia,  375. 

Esthetic  experiences,  as  instances  of 
the  harmonious  relation  of  the  unity 
and  variety  present  in  consciousness, 
89 ;  aesthetic  values  of  musical  chords, 
in  relation  to  analysis,  iii. 

Affection,  and  the  affective  aspect  of 
consciousness,  163.    See  Feeling. 

Analysis,  the,  of  conscious  states  into 
elements,  97-107 ;  question  whether 
the  doctrine  of  mental  elements  is 
right  in  its  interpretation  of  the  facts, 
107-113;  what  the  facts,  upon  which 
the  doctrine  of  mental  elements  is 
founded,  really  show,  113-115  ;  analy- 
sis as  a  substitution  of  analysed  for 
naive  states  of  consciousness,  114; 
the  process  of  analysis  in  the  course 
of  the  actual  differentiation  of  con- 
sciousness, 242-257.  See  Differen- 
tiation. 

Animals,  lower,  experiments  upon,  and 
the  relation  of  such  experiments  to 
the  general  methods  of  psychological 
study,  16 ;  signs  of  mental  life  in  ani- 
mals, 22,  25,  34 ;  questions  as  to  the 
value  and  interpretation  of  such  signs, 
23,  28-30;  the  pigeon  when  deprived 
of  its  cerebral  hemispheres,  63  ;  ani- 
mal activities  as  indicating  mental 
initiative,  43,  312-315. 

Apperception,  Herbartian  doctrine  of, 
236 ;  Wundts  definition  and  doctrine 
of  apperception,  328,  329. 

Assimilation,  229-247 ;  physical  basis 
of,  231 ;  illustrations  of,  235-247  ;  re- 
lation to  perception,  235  ;  to  memory, 


237 ;  to  thought,  245.  See  also  Same- 
ness, and  the  analysis  of  Chapter  X. 

Association,  as  the  representative  in 
the  conscious  process  of  the  results 
of  the  law  of  habit,  203-205;  forms 
of  association,  210;  explanation  of 
cases  where  the  law  of  habit  seems 
not  to  explain  the  associative  process, 
205-208 ;  association  of  mental  ele- 
ments, 208  ;  criticism  of  this  last  doc- 
trine, 209;  factors  which  determine 
the  actual  course  of  association  in 
our  ordinary  consciousness,  210-217 ; 
association  in  its  relation  to  assimila- 
tion, 229-247;  active  attention  in  re- 
lation to  association,  262,  328-330. 

Attention,  its  general  relation  to  the 
field  of  consciousness,  84,  85;  to  the 
feelings,  190,  191 ;  definition  of  atten- 
tion, 261 ;  discussion  of  its  principal 
characteristics  and  conditions,  258- 
264 ;  active  and  passive  attention, 
190, 191,  261 ;  relation  of  attention  to 
habit,  263,  cf.  226,  227,  235,  236; 
fluctuations  of  attention,  263,  264; 
social  conditions  that  determine  us 
to  regard  attentively  our  own  acts, 
283-285,  290,  291,  297  ;  relation  of  at- 
tention to  mental  initiative,  328-332  ; 
active  attention  as  dependent  upon 
"  tropisms,"  331 ;  as  an  instance  of 
restless  persistence  in  advance  of 
adaptation,  329.  Attention  in  rela- 
tion to  voluntary  action,  367-369. 
Attention  in  nervously  exhausted 
patients,  353. 

Auditory  type,  of  mental  imagery,  156. 


381 


382 


INDEX 


Baldwin,  Professor  J.  Mark,  on  imi- 
tation, 276;  on  heightened  activities 
and  the  conditions  of  mental  initia- 
tive, 307,  309,  310,  311,  317. 

Brain,  as  seat  ot  the  nervous  processes 
that  condition  mental  life,  11;  the 
study  of  the  relations  between  brain 
processes  and  mental  life  as  one  of 
the  methods  of  psychology,  15 ;  com- 
plexity of  brain  structure,  65 ;  gen- 
eral way  of  functioning  of  the  brain, 
65  ;  the  law  of  habit  in  relation  to  the 
brain,  66,  198,  200-203,  219, 231-235 ; 
localisation  of  cerebral  functions,  67 ; 
the  law  of  habit  in  relation  to  the  dis- 
tinction between  general  and  special 
habits,  68,  69 ;  "  set "  of  brain,  69,  72, 
78,  79,  214,  215,  263  ;  relation  of  the 
brain  to  lower  centres,  70 ;  inhibition 
as  a  cerebral  phenomenon,  70-75 ; 
hierarchy  of  the  functions  of  the 
brain,  70,  74;  the  higher  cerebral 
functions  as  especially  inhibitory  in 
their  relations  to  lower  functions,  73  ; 
relation  of  the  functions  of  the  brain 
to  consciousness,  80,  81 ;  inadequacy 
of  the  conscious  process  to  corre- 
spond to  the  complexity  of  the  brain 
processes,  199,  205 ;  formation  of 
new  habits,  under  the  influence  of 
new  combinations  of  stimuli,  200- 
203  ;  influence  of  inherited  tempera- 
ment of  brain  upon  prevailing  emo- 
tional tone  of  the  individual,  342. 

Browning,  Robert,  187. 

Change,  as  present  in  the  stream  of 
consciousness,  83 ;  in  relation  to  the 
unity  of  consciousness,  95-97 ;  sig- 
nificance of  change  and  succession 
for  discrimination,  and  for  the  differ- 
entiation of  mental  life,  248-257 ; 
change  in  relation  to  our  direct  con- 
sciousness  of  temporal   succession, 

95-^7. 
Childhood,  mental  phenomena  in,  diffi- 
culty of  diagnosing  certain  mental 
defects  in  a  child,  when  these  in- 
volve sense  organs,  27 ;  sudden  ap- 
pearance  of  the   signs  of  inherited 


tendencies  at  certain  points  in  child- 
hood, 52;  inhibition  in  childhood, 
75,  78 ;  visualisation  in  childhood, 
155 ;  mental  imagery  as  related  to 
conduct  in  children,  161;  conflict 
of  feelings  in  the  sulky  child,  173; 
perception  in  infancy,  219-221 ;  the 
expression  of  interest  in  a  child  in 
the  form  of  repetitions  of  acts,  260; 
fluctuations  of  attention  in  childhood, 
264 ;  social  tendencies  in  childhood, 
275-279 ;  the  development  of  lan- 
guage in  childhood,  281,  cf.  371 ;  ini- 
tiative in  childhood,  303-312 ;  plays 
of  childhood,  as  examples  of  initia- 
tive, 319-324;  further  passages,  332, 
342,  344  sq. 

Clearness  of  consciousness,  defined, 
93  ;  how  attained  in  practice,  94,  95  ; 
results  from  attention,  261,  262;  its 
relation  to  social  conditions  in  case 
of  the  thinking  process,  283-285,  290, 
291.  See  also  Difference,  Differen- 
tiation, and  Discrimination. 

Conation,  193.    See  Will  and  Conduct. 

Conduct,  in  its  general  relation  to 
docility,  33,  37,  197,  198 ;  in  its 
general  relation  to  initiative,  39-55 ; 
in  its  general  relation  to  the  signs  of 
sensory  experience,  24  sqq.;  in  its 
relation  to  mental  imagery,  159-161 ; 
in  its  relation  to  the  feelings,  172- 
176,  182-191 ;  in  its  relation  to  per- 
ception, 218-228 ;  in  its  relation  to 
the  assimilative  process,  234,  242. 
The  two  fundamental  social  types  of 
conduct,  276-279 ;  social  conditions 
that  tend  to  make  us  conscious  of  our 
own  conduct,  283-285,  291,  295,  297. 
The  variations  of  conduct,  and  the 
conditions  of  mental  initiative,  300- 
319;  illustrations  of  initiative,  319- 
331 ;  relations  of  conduct  to  attention, 
328-330,  367-369 ;  relations  of  con- 
duct to  intellect,  350,  351 ;  to  dis- 
crimination, 251-258.  Defects  of 
conduct,  347,   348,  373-379. 

Consciousness,  see  also  Mental  life. 
The  general  features  of  conscious 
life  discussed,  81-1 17;    the  "stream 


INDEX 


383 


of  consciousness,"  82-85;  the  unity 
ot  consciousness  characterised,  85- 
89;  variety  essential  to  conscious- 
ness, 89 ;  what  processes  in  the  cortex 
are  accompanied  by  consciousness, 
81,82;  consciousness  inadequate  as 
a  representation  of  the  complexity  of 
the  habits  and  functions  of  the  brain, 
199,  295 ;  psychological  results  of 
this  inadequacy,  in  case  of  our  asso- 
ciations, 205-209 ;  consciousness  as 
not  consisting  merely  of  a  complex 
of  mental  elements,  84,85,97-117; 
the  analysis  of  consciousness  as  a 
substitution  of  analysed  states  for 
unanalysed  ones,  114,  115;  when 
the  unity  of  consciousness  too  much 
predominates  over  the  variety,  con- 
sciousness tends  to  cease,  89 ;  where 
the  unity  and  variety  of  conscious- 
ness, and  the  samenesses  and  dif- 
ferences present  in  consciousness, 
support  one  another,  consciousness 
possesses  what  is  called  clearness, 
93  ;  how  this  clearness  is  practically 
attained,  94,  95  ;  how  the  differentia- 
tion of  consciousness  occurs  in  the 
course  of  our  mental  development, 
248-258. 

Contact,  sensory  experience  of,  133. 

Cortex  of  the  brain,  as  the  seat  of  the 
nervous  processes  that  are  attended 
by  mental  life,  11;  what  one  amongst 
the  functions  of  the  cortex  are  so 
attended,  81,  82;  complexity  of  the 
structure  and  functions  of  the  cortex, 
65 ;  inadequacy  of  the  conscious 
process  to  represent  the  wealth  of 
the  functions  of  the  cortex,  199,  205. 
See  also  Brain. 

Counting,  as  a  motor  process  of  an 
imitative  character,  292. 

Delusion,  356. 

Dermal  sense,  133. 

Description,  why  inferior  to  narrative 

as  a  method  of  portrayal,  255. 
Description,    scientific,    conditions  of 

success  in,  5. 
JDesire,  195,  186,  187.    See  also  Rest- 


lessness, Pleasure  and  Displeas- 
ure, Feeling,  Will. 

Difference,  as  a  relation  always  present 
amongst  the  various  states  that  are 
found  within  the  unity  of  conscious- 
ness, 90 ;  difference  inseparable  from 
sameness,  91 ;  if  the  consciousness 
of  difference  too  much  predominates 
over  that  of  sameness,  the  nature  of 
the  difference  becomes  problematic 
for  our  consciousness,  92 :  the  same- 
nesses and  differences  must  support 
one  another  if  consciousness  is  to  be 
clear,  93 ;  relation  of  difference  to 
variety  in  consciousness,  93  ;  how  we 
teach  pupils  to  take  definite  notice 
of  differences,  94,  95  ;  successive  dif- 
ferences of  conscious  states,  and  their 
relation  to  discrimination,  95-97 ; 
an  increasing  consciousness  of  dif- 
ferences accompanies  mental  devel- 
opment, 230,  248  sqq. ;  perception 
of  simultaneous  differences  develops, 
on  the  whole,  on  the  basis  of  habits 
formed  through  the  consciousness  of 
successive  differences,  249-257;  dif- 
ferences in  the  spatial  positions  of 
objects  come  to  consciousness  on  the 
basis  of  a  certain  general  extensity  of 
our  sensory  experience,  due  to  our 
total  experience  of  orientation,  141- 
147  ;  the  perception  of  differences  of 
sensory  stimulation  is  a  perception 
not  of  absolute,  but  of  relative  differ- 
ences, 264-267 ;  the  psycho-physic 
law,  267-273 ;  the  consciousness  of 
the  differences  between  our  own  ac- 
tivities and  those  of  our  social  fellows, 
and  the  importance  of  this  conscious- 
ness for  our  thought  and  for  our  self- 
consciousness,  282-285,  290,  291,  293, 
295,  297. 

Differentiation,  of  consciousness  as  a 
process  occurring  during  mental  de- 
velopment, and  determined  by  the 
laws  of  docility,  24S-273.  See  the 
analysis  of  Chapter  XI  in  Table 
of  Contents.  See  also  Difference, 
Discrimination,  Attention,  Psycho- 
j      physic  law. 


3^4 


INDEX 


Discrimination,  discriminating  sensi- 
tiveness as  a  sign  of  mind,  21 ;  its 
manifestation  in  the  signs  of  feeling, 
22,  23 ;  in  the  signs  of  sensory  expe- 
rience, 24-28 ;  Its  relation  to  uncon- 
scious reactions  and  tropisms,  28-31 ; 
its  importance  in  all  grades  of  con- 
scibus  life,  31,  32.  Discrimination 
of  simultaneous  facts  is  aided  by 
habits  formed  through  the  discrimi- 
nation of  successive  facts,  249-257 ; 
practical  consequences  of  this  prin- 
ciple, 258  ;  relation  of  discrimination 
to  attention,  258  sqq. ;  discrimination 
in  relation  to  the  psycho-physic  law, 
264-273.    See  also  Difference. 

Displeasure,  feeling  of,  168-176,  179, 
180.  See  Feeling,  Pleasure  and 
Displeasure,  and  the  analysis  of 
Chapter  VII  in  the  Table  of  Con- 
tents. 

Docility,  definition  of,  38;  outer  ex- 
pressions of,  32-38,  198;  forms  of, 
218,  229-281.  General  laws  of,  197- 
217 ;  law  of  cerebral  habit  in  relation 
to  law  of  mental  association,  198- 
208 ;  perception  as  an  instance  of, 
218-228.  Assimilation  as  one  aspect 
of,  229-247 ;  differentiation  as  an 
aspect  of,  248-273  ;  the  higher  forms 
of,  274-298 ;  relation  of  Docility  to 
initiative,  41,  51,  303,  318 ;  relation 
of  docility  to  intellect  and  will, 
198,  199,  334;  Docility  in  relation 
to  habit  and  association,  198-208. 
Docility  often  sufficiently  explains  the 
appearance  of  spontaneity  in  con- 
duct, 41.  See  also  the  analysis  of 
Chapters  VIII.  IX,  X,  XI.  and  XII, 
in  the  Table  of  Contents. 

Dramatic  element  in  all  successful  in- 
struction, its  relation  to  the  general 
process  by  which  differentiation 
takes  place  in  consciousness,  255. 

Elements,  mental,  the  doctrine  which 
maintains  that  consciousness  is  com- 
posed of  such  elements  discussed, 
97-117;  the  doctrine  as  applied  to 
associative  processes,  208,  209. 


Elements  of  the  nervous  system,  58, 59. 

Equilibrium,  sensory  experiences  of, 
in  relation  to  orientation,  and  to  our 
consciousness  of  space,  144. 

Exercise,  physical,  its  value  as  furnish- 
ing a  relief  from  inhibitions,  78. 

Experience,  the  signs  of  an  animal's 
relation  to  its  own  former  experience, 
32-38.  See  also  Consciousness, 
Mental  life.  Sensitiveness,  Sen- 
sory experience,  Docility,  Intellect, 
Habit,  Association,  Assimilation, 
Differentiation,  Perception.  Rela- 
tion of  any  new  experience  to  the 
immediately  previous  and  subse- 
quent states  of  consciousness,  83 ; 
relation  of  ex-perience  to  the  intellec- 
tual life,  351. 

Experiment,  upon  nervous  functions 
as  an  auxiliary  method  in  the  study 
of  mind,  16 ;  psychological  experi- 
ment in  the  stricter  sense,  as  a  lead- 
ing method  of  psychology,  18,  19; 
as  in  particular  an  aid  to  psychologi- 
cal analysis,  100,  103 ;  interpretation 
of  the  results  of  experimental  analy- 
sis, 112-116;  experiment  as  a  means 
of  isolating  and  studying  sensation, 
105,  106,  122,  131,  133;  Wundt's 
experimental  study  of  the  feelings, 
176;  experiment  and  the  psycho- 
physic  law,  267;  experiments  on 
fatigue,  217 ;  experiment  upon  the 
movements  by  which  we  acquire 
our  consciousness  of  space  relations, 

253- 

Experimental  psychology,  18,  19 ;  see 
Experiment.    See  also  Preface. 

Expressions,  and  Expressive  acts 
and  movements  as  signs  of  the 
presence  and  the  processes  of  men- 
tal life,  and  as  means  by  which  men- 
tal life  is  studied,  6-9,  14;  their 
relation  to  the  introspective  study  of 
mind,  17;  their  classification,  21-57; 
difficulty  of  interpreting  them  with 
certainty,  14,  15 ;  their  value  as  evi- 
dences that  consciousness  is  present 
at  all,  2r,  23,  28-31 ;  the  expressions 
that  are  signs   of   feeling,   23 ;    the 


INDEX 


38s 


signs  of  sensory  experience,  24-27 ; 
of  docility,  32-38  ;  of  initiative,  38- 
58;  the  pliysical  conditions  of  ex- 
pressive movements,  9,  10,  58-79; 
the  inhibition  of  expressive  move- 
ments, 70  sqq.  See  also  Feeling, 
Docility,  Perception,  Initiative,  Con- 
duct, Will,  for  the  various  types  and 
characters  of  expressive  movements. 

Fatigue,  217. 

Faust,  Goethe's,  as  illustrating  certain 
aspects  of  feeling  and  desire,  183, 186. 

Fechner,  and  the  psycho-physic  law, 
267. 

Feeling,  the  signs  of,  22  sq. ;  general 
nature  of,  defined,  167,  cf.  also  163- 
165  for  preliminaries  to  this  defini- 
tion ;  classification  of  feelings :  tra- 
ditional classification,  168 ;  Wundt's 
classification,  176;  author's  classifi- 
cation, 178  ;  definition  of  the  feelings 
of  pleasure  and  displeasure,  168-173, 
179  ;  of  restlessness  and  quiescence, 
180-182;  mixed  feelings,  and  their 
types,  182-189;  relation  of  the  feel- 
ings to  the  attention,  190,  191,  259, 
261,  329,  331;  to  conduct,  172-176, 
182-191;  to  the  emotions,  335-349; 
practical  significance  of,  340-349. 
See  also  the  analysis  of  Chapter  VII 
in  the  Table  of  Contents. 

French  Revolution,  mental  phenomena 
of  its  popular  excitements,  216. 

Functions,  see  Expressions  and  Ex- 
pressive movements.  See  also  Nerv- 
ous system,  Brain,  Sensitiveness, 
Docility,  Initiative,  Will.  Higher 
and  lower  nervous  functions,  their 
distinction,  11,33,34. 

Galton,  Francis,  on  mental  imagery, 
152  sqq. 

General  ideas,  see  Ideas,  general. 

Geometrical  ideas,  as  imitative  in  char- 
acter, 292. 

Goethe,  183,  186. 

Groos,  on  play,  319,  320. 

Habit,  law  of,  first  stated,  66;  re- 
stated, 198  ;  generalised  habits,  68  ; 

2C 


special  habits,  69;  general  relation 
of  cerebral  habits  to  consciousness, 
199,  205 ;  the  process  of  the  forma- 
tion of  a  habit,  200-203;  habit  and 
association,  203-208  ;  habit  and  per- 
ception, 219-228  ;  the  assimilation  of 
new  habits  by  old  ones,  231-235 ; 
consequences  for  mental  life,  235- 
247 ;  the  habits  by  which  the  power 
to  discriminate  between  simultane- 
ous facts  is  cultivated,  251  sqq.;  our 
social  habits  and  their  significance, 
276-298  ;  novel  habits,  how  acquired, 
either  in  a  growing  brain  or  in  one 
already  possessed  of  habits,  242-244, 
302-332;  abnormal  habits,  343-348, 

374-379- 

Hallucination,  355. 

Hartmann,  Fritz,  on  orientation,  141. 

Hearing,  135 ;  relation  of,  to  our  con- 
sciousness of  space,  140,  141,  145 ; 
analysis  of  sensory  experience  of  the 
sense  of  hearing  as  an  instance  of 
psychological  analysis  in  general, 
104-106,  108,  III. 

Heliotropism,  as  an  instance  of  out- 
wardly observable  sensitiveness  that 
need  not  be  attended  with  mental 
life,  29. 

Herbartian  doctrine  of  apperception, 
236. 

Idealism,  2  note. 

Ideas,  general  or  abstract  ideas,  nature 
and  social  conditions  of,  285-292 ; 
definition  of  the  term,  general  idea, 
286;  general  ideas  are  in  one  aspect 
indeed  images,  286,  cf.  157,  158 ;  but 
this  aspect  is  never  dissociated  from 
our  consciousness  of  our  acts,  286- 
288,  cf.  159, 193, 194;  and  we  become 
conscious  of  the  details  of  our  acts, 
especially  under  social  conditions, 
283,  291 ;  correct  general  ideas  ex- 
pressible only  in  terms  of  fitting 
deeds,  289;  feelings  that  accompany 
and  colour  our  consciousness  of 
ideas,  288,  289, 290 ;  imitative  charac- 
ter, especially  of  our  more  elaborate 
scientific  ideas,  291 ;  ideas  and  Ian- 


336 


INDEX 


guage,  280-284,  cf,  371, 372 ;  language 
not  the  exclusive  expression  of  gen- 
eral ideas,  284 ;  ideas  as  attitudes, 
288;  as  plans  of  action,  290. 

Images,  and  Imagery,  the  general 
nature  of  mental  images  indicated, 
148;  their  relation  to  sensory  dis- 
turbances, 148-150,  158;  differences 
between  sensory  experiences  and 
images,  150,  151 ;  the  variations  of 
mental  imagery  in  different  indi- 
viduals, 151-157  ;  the  types  of  mental 
imagery,  156 ;  the  relation  of  mental 
imagery  to  higher  mental  processes, 
157 ;  to  our  motor  activities  and  to 
our  conduct,  159-161. 

Imagination,  161. 

Imitation,  as  a  fundamental  social 
tendency,  276;  its  relation  to  the 
tendency  to  social  opposition,  278 ; 
combination  and  balance  of  the  two 
tendencies  as  a  social  ideal,  279; 
imitative  character  of  our  more 
elaborate  general  ideas,  287,  291 ; 
numerical  and  geometrical  ideas  as 
examples  of  this  fact,  292 ;  judgment 
as  acceptance  or  rejection  of  pro- 
posed imitative  portrayals  of  objects, 
293 ;  imitative  aspect  of  processes  of 
judgment,  257  ;  language  and  imita- 
tion, 281-284,  cf.  372;  imitation  and 
originality  in  intellectual  life,  361. 

Impulses,  insistent,  378. 

Inertia  of  cerebral  processes,  and  re- 
lation of  this  inertia  to  conscious- 
ness, S3. 

Inherited  tendencies,  see  Instincts. 

Inhibition,  70-80 ;  definition,  70;  im- 
portance of,  71;  the  "set"  of  the 
brain  in  relation  to,  72;  examples 
of  in  processes  of  high  grade,  73-75  ; 
practical  results  of  the  doctrine  of, 
75-80.  Relation  of  attention  to  in- 
hibition, 264. 

Initiative,  definition  of,  50;  signs  of 
in  general,  38-50 ;  many  signs  that 
appear  to  be  those  of  spontaneous 
initiative  on  the  part  of  an  organism 
are  to  be  explained  as  due  to  sensi- 
tiveness or  to  docility,  39-42 ;  but  not 


all  such  signs  can  be  thus  explained 
away,  42 ;  illustrations  of  initiative, 
43-46 ;  the  term  "  spontaneity  "  not 
the  best  to  define  such  activities,  46 ; 
analogy  of  such  activities  to  varia- 
tions in  the  process  of  heredity,  48, 
49.  301 ;  initiative  always  closely 
connected  with  docility,  51-53,  303 
sqq. ;  initiative  and  self-activity,  53-55, 
330;  initiative  appears  both  in  the 
intellectual  and  in  the  voluntary  life, 
55  ;  the  problem  regarding  initiative 
restated,  300  sq. ;  the  development 
of  our  inherited,  but  at  the  outset 
very  imperfect,  instinctive  tendencies 
as  giving  an  opportunity  for  initiative, 
302-306 ;  persistence  in  actions,  and 
in  the  variation  of  actions,  in  advance 
of  adaptation,  as  the  principal  source 
of  initiative,  306-319  ;  illustrations  of 
the  results  of  such  persistence,  319- 
330;  the  persistence  as  based  upon 
tropisms,  331.  See  also  Table  of 
Contents,  Chapter  XIII. 

Inner  and  outer  worlds,  contrast  of, 
I,  2  sq.    See  also  Mental  life. 

Insistent  impulses,  378. 

Instincts  and  inherited  tendencies,  34, 
35,  44,  52,  125  ;  the  tropisms  of  orien- 
tation and  their  importance  for  our 
consciousness  of  space,  141  sqq. ; 
inherited  tendencies  at  the  basis  of 
habits,  200  sqq. ;  as  related  to  per- 
ceptions, 219  sqq. ;  the  instincts  that 
lie  at  the  basis  of  sociality,  275-279 ; 
inherited  tendencies  in  relation  to 
initiative,  302  sqq.;  tropisms  that 
support  initiative,  306-331.  Other 
inherited  tendencies,  341,  sqq.,  375. 

Intellect  and  intelligence,  relation  to 
discriminating  sensitiveness,  31,32; 
to  docility,  37 ;  to  initiative,  55 ;  to 
will,  37,  164,  165,  334,  351 ;  to  experi- 
ence, 351  ;  to  the  feelings,  164,  165; 
to  the  attention,  259-262;  perception 
in  relation  to  the  intellect,  218  sqq. ; 
assimilation  in  relation  to  the  intel- 
lect, 234  sqq. ;  differentiation  in  re- 
lation to  the  intellect,  248  sqq. ; 
higher    intellectual   processes,  274- 


INDEX 


387 


298  ;  social  aspects  of  intellectual  life, 
id.;  general  ideas,  285  sqg. ;  judg- 
ment, 255-257,  292,  293;  reasoning 
293-296 ;  practical  aspects  of  the 
intellectual  life,  350-363. 

Interest,  in  its  relation  to  feeling,  and 
to  the  process  of  attention,  259. 

Introspection  as  a  psychological 
method,  16;  its  uses  and  limitations, 
17 ;  was  not  the  exclusive  method  of 
Aristotle,  nor  of  the  other  greater 
psychologists  of  former  times,  17, 18. 

James,  William,  on  instinct  in  human 
beings,  35;  on  the  "specious  pres- 
ent," 96 ;  on  discrimination,  250;  on 
"  fringes,"  289.     See  also  Preface. 

Judgment,  in  relation  to  the  general 
process  of  differentiation,  255-257 ; 
in  relation  to  the  social  conditions 
under  which  the  process  of  judg- 
ment has  come  to  our  own  con- 
sciousness, 293. 

Language,  its  development  in  the 
child,  37X,  372;  its  development  as 
indicating  its  relation  to  thought, 
280-285;  its  relation  to  imitation, 
281,  284;  it  is  not  exclusively  the 
function  in  which  thinking  gets  ex- 
pressed, 284,  285. 

Loeb,  on  tropisms,  29,  30,  141,  322, 
327,  330,  331 ;  on  orientation,  141. 
See  also  Preface. 

Memory,  in  relation  to  the  assimilative 
process,  236-241.  See  also  Habit, 
Docility,  Association. 

Mental  life,  general  definition  and 
character  of,  i ;  relation  of  this  defi- 
nition to  philosophical  opinions  of 
author,  2 ;  problems  as  to  the  possi- 
bility of  studying  mental  life,  5  sq.  ; 
solution  of  problem  indicated,  6  sqq.  ; 
relation  of  mental  life  to  its  physical 
expression,  dsqq.;  general  relation 
of  mental  life  to  its  physical  condi- 
tions, 9-11,  15,  59,  64  sqq.,  70-78, 
81-83,  100-103,  107,  no;  relation  of 
mental  lifo  to  physical  conditions  in 
case  ol  sensory  experience,  117, 121- 


129 ;  the  organs  of  sense  in  their 
relations  to  mental  lile,  130-135, 137; 
the  conditions  of  spatial  conscious- 
ness, 139-146;  relation  to  physical 
conditions  in  case  of  mental  im- 
agery, 148-150;  relation  to  physical 
conditions  in  case  of  feelings,  179- 
182;  the  relation  of  the  associative 
processes  of  mental  life  to  their 
physical  conditions,  203-208.  Clas- 
sification of  the  processes  of  mental 
life,  55-57  ;  more  detailed  discussion 
of  the  signs  of  mental  life,  20-57. 
See  also  Consciousness,  Sensitive- 
ness, Docility,  Initiative,  Percep- 
tion, Assimilation,  Differentiation, 
Will. 
Methods   of   psychology    defined    in 

general,  14-19. 
Mob,  mental  phenomena  of  the,  216, 276. 
Moral  Law,  its  relation  to  the  processes 

of  inhibition,  75-77. 
Motor  imagery,  and  the  motor  type  of 
persons  when  classified  with  respect 
to  imagery,  156. 
Motor  nervous  processes,  61-65,  67, 
68;  their  inhibition,  70-75;  their 
relations  to  the  law  of  habit,  66,  67, 
198-205;  how  they  come  to  be  repre- 
sented in  consciousness,  127 ;  their 
relations  to  mental  imagery,  159,  156, 
157.  See  also  Conduct,  Habit,  Will. 
Movement,  see  also  Expression  and 
Expressive  movements.  How  we  be- 
come aware  of  our  own  movements, 
127,  365 ;  of  our  movements  of  orien- 
tation, and,  through  them,  of  our 
spatial  relations,  T41-147.  For  the 
significance  of  our  movements  for 
consciousness  in  general,  see  also 
Conduct,  Perception,  Discrimina- 
tion, Will.  Tropisms,  Motor  ner- 
vous processes. 
Multiplicity  of  conscious  states,  in 
relation  to  the  unity  of  conscious- 
ness, 89.  See  also  Consciousness. 
Miinsterberg,  Professor  Hugo,  3. 

Narrative,  why  more  interesting  than 
description,  255. 


388 


INDEX 


Nervous  system,  its  general  relation 
to  mental  life,  lo.  Distinction  be- 
tween nervous  processes  that  are, 
and  those  that  are  not,  attended  by 
mental  life,  ii,  33,  34,  64,  81,  82;  the 
study  of  the  nervous  processes  that 
accompany  and  condition  mental 
life  as  one  of  the  methods  of  psy- 
chology, 15 ;  general  characterisa- 
tion of  the  structure  of  the  nervous 
system,  59-61 ;  possible  nature  of  the 
transmission  of  nervous  excitation, 
60 ;  sensory  and  motor  nervous  fibres 
and  functions,  61-64;  adjustments  to 
the  environment  as  determined  by 
nervous  functions,  64 ;  complexity  of 
higher  nervous  processes,  65  ;  locali- 
sation, 67;  habits  of  nervous  centres, 
68-70;  the  hierarchy  of  nervous 
functions,  74 ;  inhibition,  70-75.  Ner- 
vous conditions  of  habit  and  associa- 
tion, 198-203.  Inertia  of  the  nervous 
processes,  83.  Some  phenomena  of 
nervous  exhaustion,  353-355,  376, 
See  also  Brain. 

Neurons,  or  "  elements,"  of  the  nervous 
system,  58,  59,  305. 

New  Testament,  positive  precepts  in, 

n- 

Numerical,  general  ideas,  as  imitative 
in  character,  292. 

"Old-fashioned  winter,"  the,  as  an 
example^of  an  idea  due  to  a  charac- 
teristic defect  of  human  memory, 
239-241. 

Opposition,  as  a  social  tendency,  na- 
ture and  significance  of,  277-279; 
its  relation  to  imitation,  278 ;  to  ar- 
gument and  reasoning,  296 ;  to  indi- 
vidualism and  to  the  social  forms  of 
initiative,  326-328. 

Organic  sensation,  131,  132;  in  rela- 
tion to  orientation,  and  consequently 
to  the  bases  of  our  consciousness 
of  space,  141-147 ;  in  connection 
with  the  emotions,  169,  337-339;  in 
relation  to  our  consciousness  of  our 
movements,  127,  365. 

Orientation,  the  functions  of,  in  rela- 


tion to  our  consciousness  of  space, 
141-147;  reactions  of  orientation, 
141,  142;  their  representation  in  our 
sensory  experience,  143 ;  all  our  sen- 
sory experiences  related  to  our  acts 
of  orientation,  id.;  result  as  to  any 
special  sensory  experience  of  which 
we  become  conscious,  144 ;  the  pri- 
mal experience  of  extensity,  145; 
consequences  for  the  nature  of  our 
spatial  consciousness,  146,  147. 

Pain,  sensations  of,  132,  170;  feelings 
of,  168-173,  179.  See  Pleasure  and 
Displeasure,  Feeling,  and  the  analy- 
sis of  Chapter  VII  in  the  Table  of 
Contents. 

Perversion,  of  character,  344,  347,  348, 
375.  379  ;  of  emotion,  343-346. 

Physical  conditions  of  mental  life, 
9 ;  always  include  conditions  involv- 
ing the  nervous  system,  10.  See 
also  Brain,  and  Nervous  System. 
Controllable  physical  conditions  in 
experimental  psychology,  18. 

Physical  expressions  of  mental  life, 
see  also  Expressions.  Every  physi- 
cal expression  of  mind,  direct  or  in- 
direct, interesting  to  the  psychologist, 
12,  14.  The  physical  signs  of  the 
presence  of  mind  classified,  20-57. 

Physical  facts,  the  general  nature  of 
the  contrast  between  physical  and 
mental  facts,  2  sqq. 

Plasticity  as  a  sign  of  mind,  32-38. 
See  Docility. 

Pleasure  and  Displeasure,  feelings 
of,  their  signs,  22,  23 ;  the  traditional 
theory,  which  regards  all  feelings  as 
of  these  two  t^pes,  stated,  167-173 ; 
application  of  the  theory  to  the  case 
of  the  emotions,  169-171 ;  relation  of 
pleasure  and  displeasure  to  conduct 
according  to  this  theory,  172 ;  doubts 
concerning  the  sufificiency  of  this  the- 
ory, 173-176 ;  Wundt's  view  as  to  the 
classification  of  the  feelings,  176, 177 ; 
the  author's  classification,  177  sqq. 
Relation  of  pleasure  and  displeas- 
ure to  other  feelings,  on  this  basis. 


INDEX 


389 


179  sqq.     See  also  analysis  of  Chap-  ' 
ter  VII  in  Table  ot  Contents.  I 

Positive  and  negative  precepts,  their 
psychological  relations  to  inhibition,  [ 

76.  77- 

Practical  applications,  of  the  study 
of  the  signs  of  sensory  experience, 
27  <;q. ;  of  the  relations  between  the 
various  special  habits  of  the  brain, 
70;  of  the  facts  relating  to  inhibition, 
75-79;  practical  results  of  excessive 
inhibition,  77 ;  the  relief  from  inhibi- 
tions as  one  use  of  physical  exercise, 
78 ;  the  practical  significance  of  the 
phenomena  of  worry,  79,  80;  prac- 
tical consequences  of  the  doctrine 
regarding  the  relations  of  sameness 
and  difference,  94;  the  significance 
of  the  proper  training  of  the  senses 
for  the  development  of  any  and  all 
grades  of  conscious  life,  127  sq. ;  the 
life  of  the  senses  not  a  lower  life,  but 
an  auxiliary  of  the  highest  mental 
processes,  128  ;  the  relations  of  men- 
tal imagery  to  conduct,  159 ;  need  of 
considering,  in  guiding  minds,  the 
individual  varieties  of  mental  im- 
agery, 162;  practical  application  of 
the  doctrine  as  to  the  relation  between 
perception  and  conduct,  226-228 ;  of 
the  doctrine  of  assimilation,  236;  of 
the  doctrine  as  to  the  differentiation 
of  consciousness,  257 ;  of  the  doc- 
trine of  the  social  factors  of  the 
higher  forms  of  docility,  279 ;  of  the 
doctrine  of  mental  initiative,  331. 
Practical  suggestions  concerning  the 
life  of  the  emotions,  340-349 ;  con- 
cerning the  intellectual  processes, 
349-351;  concerning  some  intellec- 
tual disorders,  353-355,  358-360,  and 
anomalies,  360-362.  Considerations 
concerning  the  will,  364-379.  See 
also  Conduct,  and  the  analyses  of 
Chapters  XIV  and  XV  in  the  Table 
of  Contents. 

Present  moment  of  consciousness  as 
not  indivisible,  84 ;  but  as  of  finite 
length,  95-97  ;  what  is  present  to  con- 
sciousness at  any  one  moment,  85. 


Psychology,  defined,  i ;  how  possible 
as  a  science,  5  sqq.;  essentials  of 
all  psychological  study,  12,  13;  how 
related  to  neurological  science,  10- 
13;  the  methods  of  psychology, 
13-19;  the  business  of  psychology 
restated,  112,  113,  ii6,  117;  psycho- 
logical analysis  as  a  process  of  sub- 
stitution, 114;  as  a  further  carrying 
out  of  the  tendency  of  the  developing 
consciousness  towards  differentia- 
tion, 230,  257.  See  also  Conscious- 
ness and  Mental  life. 

Psycho-physic  law,  138,  264-273 ;  as 
a  law  regarding  the  limitations  of 
our  docility,  269. 

Quiescence,  feelings  of,  178,  179 ;  their 
relation  to  feelings  of  restlessness, 
180,  181;  of  pleasure  and  displeas- 
ure, 182,  183;  quiescence  as  a  posi- 
tive state  of  consciousness,  185 ;  the 
quiescent  pleasures,  185 ;  the  rela- 
tively quiescent  experiences  of  dis- 
pleasure, 188,  189;  despair  as  an 
instance  of  such  union  of  displeas- 
ure and  quiescence,  189 ;  relation  of 
quiescence  to  passive  attention,  190, 
191,  261 ;  the  feeling  of  familiarity 
as  a  relatively  quiescent  feeling,  224 ; 
the  feeling  of  confidence  (which 
sometimes  takes  the  place  of  a 
general  idea)  is  of  the  quiescent 
type,  288. 

Reasoning,  nature  of  the  reasoning 
process  defined,  293,  294 ;  illustrated, 
295;  the  reasoning  process  as  the 
result  of  social  training,  295,  296; 
its  relation  to  the  devices  of  social 
persuasion,  296. 

Restlessness,  feelings  of,  178  sqq.;  their 
general  relation  to  feelings  of  quies- 
cence, 179, 180 ;  to  feelings  of  pleasure 
and  displeasure,  182, 183  ;  the  four  re- 
sulting mixed  types  of  feeling,  179, 
185-189  ;  the  relation  of  these  mixed 
types  of  feeling  to  desire  and  to  con- 
duct, id.;  the  relation  of  restlessness 
to  the  active  attention,  190,  330 ;  the 


390 


INDEX 


relation  of  restlessness  to  the  con- 
ditions which  determine  the  persist- 
ence in  and  the  variation  of  types  of 
action,  in  advance  of  adaptation, 
306-331 ;  resulting  theses  as  to  men- 
tal initiative,  318,  331 ;  the  relation  of 
restlessness  to  desire,  195. 
Rhythm,  as  an  example  of  the  presence 
of  unity  and  variety  in  consciousness, 
84,  89,  93  ;  relation  of  rhythm  to  the 
duration  of  the  present  moments  of 
consciousness,  96. 

Sameness,  as  a  relation  always  present 
amongst  the  various  states  in  the 
unity  of  consciousness,  91 ;  sameness 
and  difference  are  inseparable  facts, 
91 ;  each  may  help  ns  to  become 
aware  of  the  other,  92 ;  if  sameness 
too  much  predominates,  conscious- 
ness tends  to  lapse,  89;  relation  of 
sameness  and  difference  to  unity  and 
variety,  93  ;  relation  of  consciousness 
of  sameness  to  clearness  of  conscious- 
ness, 93;  the  consciousness  of  same- 
ness as  a  factor  in  the  process  of 
thought,  245 ;  the  consciousness  of 
sameness  in  relation  to  our  power 
to  observe  objects,  235. 

Science,  descriptive,  conditions  which 
make  it  possible,  5;  problem  as  to 
how  a  science  of  mental  states  is 
possible,  5-13 ;  the  relation  of  scien- 
tific inquiry  to  the  discovery  of  law, 

43- 

Self,  and  the  consciousness  of  self,  in 
relation  to  the  social  conditions 
which  determine  self-consciousness, 
296-298  ;  see  also  283-285,  291,  and 
the  analysis  of  Chapter  XII  in  the 
Table  of  Contents.  On  the  self  as 
the  sole  observer  of  mental  states, 
see  1-5.  On  the  character  of  feelings 
as  states  referred  especially  to  the 
self,  166,  167. 

Self-activity,  see  Initiative. 

Sensation,  definition  of,  122;  the  signs 
of  the  presence  of,  24-28  ;  the  classi- 
fication of,  129-136;  the  attributes 
of:    intensity  and  quality,  136-139; 


extensity  as  an  attribute  of  sensation, 
and  its  relation  to  our  experiences 
of  orientation,  139-147;  conscious- 
ness not  a  mere  complex  of  elemen- 
tary sensations,  120-122. 

Senses,  the  physiology  of  the  senses, 
16 ;  the  classification  of  the  various 
senses  indicated,  129-136 ;  the  life  of 
the  senses  plays  its  part  in  all  grades 
of  consciousness,  123-129. 

Sensitiveness,  discriminating,  as  the 
most  general  sign  of  the  presence  of 
mind,  21 ;  the  forms  of  this  sensitive- 
ness, 22-32;  why  called  discrimi- 
nating, 21 ;  relation  of  sensitiveness 
to  habit,  and  to  plasticity  or  docility, 
27,  36 ;  to  apparent  spontaneity,  39. 
The  outer  appearance  of  discrimi- 
nating sensitiveness  as  not  an  un- 
questionable sign  of  the  presence  of 
mind,  23,  28-30;  but  of  great  im- 
portance in  the  interpretation  of 
mind  where  we  know  that  mind  is 
present,  31.  The  appearance  of 
spontaneity  often  only  a  phase  of 
sensitiveness,  39.  The  first  form 
of  sensitiveness :  sensory  experi- 
ence, its  relation  to  consciousness 
of  all  grades,  121-129 ;  its  classifi- 
cation, 129-136;  the  attributes  of 
sensory  experience,  136-147.  The 
second  form  of  sensitiveness,  mental 
imagery,  148-161.  The  third  form 
of  sensitiveness,  feeling,  163-195. 
See  Table  of  Contents,  Chapters  V-, 
VI,  and  VII. 

Sensory  Experience,  the  signs  of,  24- 
28 ;  the  interpretation  of  these  signs 
not  always  certain,  28-30 ;  but  these 
signs  are  of  great  importance  for  the 
interpretation  of  all  grades  of  mental 
life,  S'^'^^  S^^  further  the  analysis 
Iapter*V-Hi4he  Table  of  Contents, 
ensory  nervous  processes,  61-65. 
iequence  of  states  in  consciousness, 
see  Change  and  Succession. 

Sexual  emotions,  344-346. 

Shinn,  Miss  M.  W.,  on  early  habits 
in  childhood,  303,  307,  308. 

Sight,  135, 136 ;  relation  of,  to  the  con- 


INDEX 


391 


sciousness  of  extensity,  139  sqq. ;  to 
perceptive  processes,  219  sqq.  Im- 
agery of  objects  once  seen,  152  sqq. 

Signs  of  mental  lite,  see  Expression 
and  Expressive  movements. 

Similarity,  see  Sameness  and  Differ- 
ence. 

Simultaneous  association,  see  Asso- 
ciation. 

Simultaneous  facts,  how  the  differen- 
tiation of  such  facts  comes  to  con- 
sciousness, see  Differentiation. 

Simultaneous  functions,  how  affected 
in  case  of  the  formation  of  habits, 
202,  203. 

Smell,  sense  of,  134. 

Social  conditions  and  tendencies  which 
determine  the  higher  forms  of  docil- 
ity, see  Imitation,  Opposition,  and 
the  analysis  of  Chapter  XII  in  the 
Table  of  Contents. 

Space,  consciousness  of,  its  relation  to 
our  consciousness  of  sameness  and 
difference,  92 ;  its  basis  in  our  gen- 
eral experiences  of  the  orientation 
of  the  organism,  139-147 ;  differen- 
tiation of  this  consciousness  of  space 
through  our  experiences  of  move- 
ment, 252-254 ;  the  perception  of 
single  objects  in  space,  219-223. 

Spontaneity,  appearance  of,  in  the 
nervous  functions  that  attend  mental 
life,  12,  22,  39 ;  apparent  spontaneity 
as  often  but  a  phase  of  sensitiveness, 
39  sq.,  or  of  docility,  41 ;  but  some 
forms  of  spontaneity  not  easily  thus 
to  be  explained,  42-46.  Spontaneity 
does  not  mean  a  lack  of  causal  con- 
nection, 47 ;  objections  to  the  use  of 
the  term,  id. ;  the  term  Initiative 
substituted,  which  also  see  for  further 
facts  of  spontaneity. 

Static  sense,  144. 

Stem,  William,  on  the  "  present  mo- 
ment" of  consciousness,  96. 

Storch,  on  our  consciousness  of  space, 
147. 

Succession,  in  the  stream  of  conscious- 
ness, 83 ;  in  relation  to  the  unity  of 
consciousness,    95-97;     the    signifi- 


cance of  our  consciousness  of  suc- 
cession as  a  means  of  developing  our 
habits  of  discriminating  simultaneous 
facts,  248-258.  The  consciousness 
of  succession  as  related  to  the  con- 
sciousness of  difference,  97.  See 
also  Time. 

Suggestion,  negative,  in  relation  to 
inhibition,  76. 

Synthesis,  256,  258. 

Taste,  sense  of,  134. 

Temperature,  sensory  experience  of, 

133- 
Ten  Commandments,  the,  as  examples 
of  appeal  to  inhibitory  tendencies, 

Thinking  process,  see  Thought. 

Thought,  in  relation  to  our  sensory 
experience,  123-129 ;  in  relation  to 
the  assimilative  process,  245-247  ;  in 
relation  to  the  process  of  differentia- 
tion, 255-257 ;  in  relation  to  our 
social  habits  and  training,  280-296 ; 
thought  and  language,  381-285; 
thought    in    relation    to     conduct, 

351- 

Time,  our  consciousness  of  the  present 
moment  always  a  consciousness  of 
a  finite  duration,  never  of  an  in- 
divisible present  moment,  95-97 ; 
temporal  succession  as  significant 
for  the  formation  of  our  habits  of 
discrimination,  248-258 ;  temporal 
sequence  an  essential  character  of 
the  stream  of  consciousness,  83  ;  our 
memory  of  past  time  affected  by 
assimilative  processes,  237-241 ;  the 
relation  of  our  feelings  to  our  con- 
sciousness of  time,  180, i8i. 

Touch,  see  Dermal  sense. 

Tropisms,  of  Loeb,  general  usage  and 
definition  of  the  term,  29,  30  (see 
also  Preface)  ;  see  also  141, 322,  327, 
330.  331- 

Unity  of  Consciousness,  see  Con- 
sciousness and  Mental  life;  the 
unity  of  consciousness  generally 
characterised,  85  sqq. 


392 


INDEX 


Variations  in  the  race  as  analogous  to 
the  appearance  of  initiative  in  the 
functions  of  the  individual,  48,  301. 

Variety  as  an  aspect  of  mental  life, 
89;  see  also  Consciousness,  Mental 
life,  Change,  Differentiation. 

Verbal-motor  type  of  mental  imagery 
and  of  persons  when  classified  with 
respect  to  imagery,  156,  157. 

Visual  type,  of  mental  imagery, 
153  sqq.  The  variations  in  visualis- 
ing power  from  person  to  person, 
153, 154.  The  relative  predominance 
of  visual  imagery  over  other  imagery 
in  the  "  visualising  "  type  of  persons, 

155.  156. 

Volition,  see  Will. 

Voluntary  acts,  as  resulting  from  atten- 
tion, 367-369;  in  what  sense  volun- 
tary acts  are  never,  as  such,  original, 
369-371 ;  the  growth  of  language  as 
an  instance  of  the  development  of  a 
voluntary  function,  371-372. 

Wagner,  Richard,  187, 

Weber,  and  the  psycho-physic  law,  267. 


Will,  in  the  wider  sense,  as  our  total 
consciousness  of  our  activity,  and  of 
our  own  attitude  towards  our  world, 
194-196,  364-367;  in  the  narrower 
sense,  as  the  process  of  the  attentive 
selection  of  one  way  of  action  as 
against  another,  367-369 ;  will  in  re- 
lation to  intellect,  37,  164,  165,  334, 
351;  the  term  "will"  as  of  little  use 
for  purposes  of  purely  psychological 
classification,  196,  334 ;  will  in  rela- 
tion to  feeling  in  general,  164,  165; 
in  relation  to  the  special  types  of 
feeling,  see  Feeling.  For  the  prac- 
tical aspects  of  the  life  of  the  will, 
especially  in  reference  to  the  nar- 
rower use  of  the  term,  see  analysis 
of  Chapter  XV  in  Table  of  Con- 
tents. 

Worry,  phenomena  of,  79,  80. 

Wundt,  Wilhelm,  on  the  classification 
of  the  feelings,  176,  177,  180;  on  the 
association  of  mental  elements,  208, 
209 ;  on  the  early  stages  of  the  de- 
velopment of  language,  281 ;  on 
apperception,  328. 


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APR  1  0  2Q03 


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'  (04796610)476 


General  Library 

University  of  California 

Berkeley 


U.C.  BERKELEY  LIBRARIES 


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